


Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time

by monsterleadmehome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bossy Hermione Granger, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Genderswapped My Fair Lady (kinda), Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Minor Draco/OC, Playboy Draco Malfoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterleadmehome/pseuds/monsterleadmehome
Summary: She scoffs. “If you must know, he ‘elected’ me because he thinks our shared animosity will keep you in check. He’s also not worried about you trying to shag me as a distraction.”He leans back, stubbing out his cigarette on the banister. His eyes rove over her from crown to toe and back. She lifts her chin and tries not to shiver. “Well, he’s right about that.”Lucius Malfoy hires Hermione Granger to whip his son into shape so he can find a pure-blood bride and receive his inheritance. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 430
Kudos: 2081
Collections: Best of DMHG, Dramione Fics That I've Read





	1. An Offer She Can't Refuse

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, the "Playboy Draco" story I've been teasing my mutuals with for ages. I would describe it as a sort of genderswapped My Fair Lady, but with a fair bit of post-war angst. Many thanks to raven_maiden for the beta!

Hermione’s arms tremble around the comically oversized box. She could have done this the magical way, but she’s feeling masochistic for some reason, and the image of her carrying all her belongings across the Atrium was darkly funny to imagine. She hopes anyone watching is enjoying themselves. _Bloody bastards, thinking with their arses instead of their heads. I’ll show those workaholic blowhards—the whole lot of them!_

She cranes her head around glancing back to the lifts, as if she’ll see the ‘them’ in question. It is because of this that she misses the person whose shoe collides with hers, sending her box flying, contents spewing onto the tiled floor. _Bollocks_.

“Miss Granger,” comes the tepid greeting, and she can hear the sneer without seeing it.

She looks up, seeing the icy, unflappable visage of Lucius Malfoy, his cane pinned atop one of her many notebooks that has spilled out of the box. 

Great. Possibly the last person she could have wanted to see right now. 

“Mr. Malfoy.” She begins collecting her things, but it seems he has no intention of leaving her in peace. “To what do I owe this _pleasure_?” She grits out the last word as she yanks her notebook out from under his cane and flops it unceremoniously back into the box. Of course, possibly the worst day of her professional career would end with her kneeling in front of the man responsible for so much of her misery back at Hogwarts. She non-verbally accios the rest of her items and tosses them in the box. Then she charms it down several sizes until it can slip into her bag, as she should have done to begin with.

“Well,” he begins, straightening his robe and allowing her room as she stands, “I was here on other business, but it seems fate has alternate plans for us.”

She brings her hand to her hip, becoming increasingly agitated with his presence. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Let’s just say I am in need of assistance. _Paid_ assistance.” His eyes roam over her coolly, assessing her state and the belongings she holds. “And you appear to just have gotten sacked. Am I off?”

No. She had, in fact, just gotten sacked. It wasn’t _her_ fault that the protester chose to charge at Byron. It was, however, her fault that she stunned him when the Aurors had told her they had it under control. She can’t dwell on it—she’d already scourged herself enough. Just the memory has her body threatening to break out into a cold sweat.

Her shoulders slump in defeat. “I believe your assessment is correct.”

“Then I have a job proposition for you. Interested?”

“Not in the slightest. Good day, sir.”

Before she can storm off triumphantly, she hears Lucius Malfoy say a word she never thought he’d say to her. “Please—Miss Granger, I can assure you, I’m quite serious.”

She turns to look at him and registers his beseeching look. Given that she has no other immediate options at the moment, and she _does_ have a cat to feed— _No shame in hearing him out_. “Oh, I suppose…” She suppresses the urge to tap her foot.

“Excellent. Do hold onto your books, won’t you?” Before she can give it a further thought, he grabs her arm and apparates them both away.

* * *

Malfoy Manor. Hermione swallows, her eyes wandering over the marble floor of the foyer. She can’t help wondering if she’s made a mistake. She hasn’t been here since she was tortured by Bellatrix in the drawing room. Bellatrix Lestrange… in the drawing room… with a knife. It sounds like a nightmare version of Clue. But she has the scars to prove it actually happened.

“Tea?” he asks coldly. He leads her to a sitting room nearby. It looks different enough from the drawing room to not send her into a panic, but she’s still on guard. 

“Alright,” she says reluctantly. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, Mr. Malfoy? If this is some kind of elaborate scheme, I’ll have you know that I really don’t appreciate—”

He flicks his wand and a chair pulls up to the bend of her knees. “Have a seat, Miss Granger.”

She hesitates briefly, then does as told, but only because he is sitting as well. A sudden pop jars her from her thoughts as a house elf appears. He is dressed well and looks perfectly healthy. Perhaps Lucius has changed somewhat since the war. Hermione smiles sweetly as the elf begins to pour. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen some of the exploits my son has been up to in the past few years.”

Hermione gulps down her sip of tea, practically scalding her throat. She has. So has everyone else. Splashed across the society pages of the _Prophet_ every other day. Excessive drinking, random women, general debauchery. “Yes, I’ve seen the papers.”

He huffs, rubbing his knee before taking a sip of tea. She realizes his cane is more of a necessity than a fashion statement these days. “There’s no need to be polite about it. He’s constantly drunk and has whored himself across half of Britain by now.” His mouth forms a thin line as he sets his teacup down a little too forcefully. “I thought we raised him better.”

 _War does shitty things to all of us_ , she thinks. Aloud, she says, “I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“Draco has enjoyed a measure of my patience, as well as my money, but he is approaching his twenty-fifth birthday. Malfoy heirs are able to come into their full inheritance upon reaching this milestone, but only if a suitable pure-blood bride is chosen.”

“I still don’t—”

“Please don’t interrupt, Miss Granger. I am cutting him off, in a sense. Until he can get his act together and find a respectable girl to settle down with. I want to put you in charge of his inheritance and his _rehabilitation_.”

 _“_ His—” Hermione can barely compute what he is saying. “Pardon?”

“You’re the ideal candidate. You’re known to be authoritative, and your past animosity towards each other will force him to pay attention. And unlike the vast majority of the female population in Europe, I have no concern about him wanting to do anything untoward with you.” He sneers again as he says this, though his tone implies he doesn’t perceive it as an insult to her. “You will make sure he stays out of trouble—the smoking, the drinking, the general carousing. You will make sure he attends to his familial obligations, and once he is clean and sober, you will arrange for him to meet with potential brides of reputable pedigree.”

Hermione, who has been doing her best to listen and not roll her eyes at his prolonged speech, nearly chokes on her tea. “You want me to babysit your son.”

“I will pay you handsomely of course. With an extra bonus if he is engaged by his birthday.”

This is preposterous. Hermione is in need of money, yes—but nothing sounds worse than becoming Draco Malfoy’s personal nanny. “Mr. Malfoy, I appreciate the offer. But this doesn’t seem like a good idea. No offense to your or your family, but I think I’d rather find employment cleaning up after Hippogriffs.”

He smirks slightly and nods his head as if expecting this reaction, then takes his wand out and transfigures a biscuit into a piece of paper which floats over to her. Hermione takes the paper and watches in amazement as a figure appears—it’s more than double her annual salary. She opens and closes her mouth several times. “This is for a year?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That figure is per month.” He pauses, sipping his tea. 

“Mr. Malfoy, this is really too—”

“Please at least consider it.” He sighs deeply. “It is Narcissa’s and my greatest wish that Draco gets his life in order.”

Hermione considers Lucius. He looks tired, haggard almost; the lines of his face deeper than she remembered. He has lost most of his bite—far from the threatening, imposing man of her childhood. Now he’s simply an aging, worried father, trying to do what he can to secure the well-being of his son. It’s a mission she can get behind regardless of how antiquated his ideas about blood and marriage may be. Despite her dislike of Draco, the money is more than worth considering. She has always wanted to make a difference in the wizarding world, and a sum like this could go a long way to making that dream a reality.

She squares her shoulders. “I want to meet with Draco first. Make sure this is something I feel comfortable doing.”

He seems to visibly relax, melting back into his chair a bit. “Of course. He’s upstairs if you wish to see him now.”

She quietly creeps through the Manor, remembering the directions Lucius gave her but still being a bit nosy—she always was too curious for her own good. Finally she finds Draco’s quarters, the door to his room slightly ajar. Her hunch that he would be asleep still turns out to be correct. _It’s nearly noon, for Merlin’s sake!_ The air smells like stale smoke and sex. He is stark naked, lying on his stomach, with the sheet draped haphazardly across his body. It doesn’t stop her from being able to see half of his arse.

It has been a long time since she’s seen him in person, and never has she seen this _much_ of him. She has to admit, whatever revelry he’s partaken in for the past few years, it’s done nothing outwardly to his body, though he may be a few pounds lighter. Still, he’s very… fit. She feels herself flush.

He groans—a long, low sound that makes her tingle in a way that’s entirely new to her. Then he turns over, sensing someone in the room. The sheet falls down. “Granger?”

Hermione gapes for a second, seeing all of him for only a moment before bringing her hand up to cover her eyes. “Malfoy—the sheet!”

He chuckles, voice rough with sleep. “See something you like, then?” 

She risks peeking between her fingers to see him grinning sleepily like a Cheshire cat. “Would you please just—”

“Oh you can look now, prude.”

She lowers her hand, relieved to see he is covered to the waist now. His chest and abs, however, are still on full display. Her mouth suddenly goes dry. “Thank you,” she says tightly. “Was that so hard?”

“No, but I’m getting there.” His smirk is back, and she rolls her eyes. “Now, you don’t seem interested in a shag, so would you mind telling me what you’re doing in my room, Granger?”

“Your father asked me here. He thinks I can _help_ you.”

He loses the teasing smile quickly, lips forming a thin line. His grey eyes harden. “Is that so?” He wraps the sheet around him and gets out of the bed, searching for something. He finally finds what he’s looking for—his cigarette case. He pulls one out and lights it before moving to open the doors that go to his balcony. “And what did you say?”

“I said I’d have to meet with you first. It’s been a long time.” Cautiously, she pads out on the balcony to join him, careful to avoid his puffs of smoke.

“Yes, the last time I saw your terrible mane was at my trial. I’d thought I was rid of your swotty voice forever.”

“Hmmph,” she grunts, crossing her arms. There’s no way this is going to work. She’ll have to tell Lucius no.

He chances a look at her. “Relax, Granger. I’m teasing. Still, I don’t know why my father has elected you to be my, what—governess?” He laughs. “Old todger. I rather think my tendency for self-destruction is endearing.”

She scoffs. “If you must know, he ‘elected’ me because he thinks our shared animosity will keep you in check. He’s also not worried about you trying to shag me as a distraction.”

He leans back, stubbing out his cigarette on the banister. His eyes rove over her from crown to toe and back. She lifts her chin and tries not to shiver. “Well, he’s right about that.”

She gives him a sarcastic smile, concealing how rankled she is by his statement. Best not to investigate _that_ any further. “Trust me, the feeling is completely mutual. You clearly don’t want any help, and frankly, it’s none of my concern if you want to drink yourself into an early grave. So I think I’ll just go back downstairs and tell him ‘thanks, but no thanks.’”

She pivots on her heel and starts to walk away, but is yanked back by his grip on her wrist. “Granger, wait.”

“Don’t touch me.” She whirls around, trying to wrench free of his grasp. After several tugs, his long fingers gently release her, and she glares at him, certainly _not_ thinking about how unexpectedly warm they were.

“Fine.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I just think that perhaps you’re not thinking through all the angles of this. What if you make good reports to dear old dad, but I change nothing. Ipso facto: you get the money with little effort, and I get to keep my philandering ways.” He waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

Her face scrunches up. “You disgust me,” she says, before sharply turning to leave the room.

_I knew this was a bad idea._

She is so riled up that she barely notices how she finds her way back to the sitting room, where Lucius is still lounging in the wingback chair, skimming over _The Daily Prophet_. “Keep your money, Mr. Malfoy. I’m sure I’ll find other employment soon enough.”

He doesn’t even look up. “Take the night, Miss Granger. Sometimes a good sleep can help put things in perspective.”

She makes a noncommittal noise and she grabs a handful of Floo powder and steps through their fireplace.

* * *

“He wants you to what?” Harry asks incredulously over his butterbeer.

They are out for consolation drinks, in honor of Hermione’s sacking.

“He wants me to be Malfoy’s glorified babysitter. Keep him out of trouble and find him a ‘suitable pure-blood wife.’” She uses her rich snooty voice for the last bit. 

Ron nearly spits out his butterbeer. “What a wanker.”

“I think it’s not a bad idea, actually.” Glasses clink on the table as everyone turns to look at Ginny.

“You do?” Hermione asks, once she recovers.

“I mean, he has a point. You and Malfoy have always had this weird rivalry thing. You get under his skin—he’d probably be more liable to listen to you. And the fact that you can’t stand each other means he won’t try to shag you, and you won’t try to seduce him for his money.” Ginny pauses to sip her drink. “I mean, I actually can’t believe you’re not considering it. You get to torture your former bully, make his life miserable, _and_ get paid for it? I’d do it.”

Hermione’s mouth falls open a bit. “Well, when you put it like that—”

Harry pipes up, “And they want you to help find him a wife, right? You could line up the _worst_ pure-blood witches around, really drive him nuts—ya know?”

Hermione stares at them, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious. That’s completely unethical!” Harry and Ginny snort, rolling their eyes. “Not to mention that we might just wind up murdering each other!” she protests. 

“Blimey, ‘Mione… you really think Malfoy deserves any less?” He shakes his head. “Personally, I think Ginny and Harry make some good points.”

“Cheers,” says Harry, grinning. 

“Even if you did take it seriously, it would be worth it for the money,” Ginny points out. “That’s almost as much as a Chudley Cannons player makes!” 

Hermione blinks. It seems she’s been overruled. She starts questioning whether she has drunk more butterbeer than she initially thought.

“I guess I’ll think about it,” she concedes. Lucius had given her the night, after all.

* * *

When Hermione wakes the next morning, the words of her friends are still on her mind. It _could_ potentially be satisfying to essentially be in charge of Draco Malfoy—all for a good cause, of course—and she _does_ need the money. She watches Crookshanks stretch at the foot of the bed, his unruly ginger tail flicking in the air. He paws his way up the bed to nuzzle her hand. 

“Should I do it, Crooks?” She scratches behind his ears while she ponders.

Just as she makes up her mind, there’s a pecking at her window. She looks over to see a beautiful owl waiting for her. She lets him in and removes the scroll from his leg. It seems Lucius has anticipated her change of heart. He’s asked her to join him for dinner tonight if she intends to accept his business proposal. She quickly pens her response and sends the owl back.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She gets nothing done all day, her mind preoccupied with the impending dinner. What will Malfoy think when he sees her back at the Manor? She wonders if he’ll try to sway her to his agenda again, to let him keep pissing his life away. A morbid thrill runs through her at the thought of knocking him down a few pegs, but she shakes it off. A reformed Draco Malfoy will only serve to make the world a little better.

Her closet is depressing. Hermione has always been a practical dresser, but nothing in her wardrobe seems fancy enough for dinner at Malfoy Manor. She winds up choosing a basic but flattering black dress—the same one she wore for her first date with Ron several years ago, and was never able to look at again. They dated for a few awkward months before deciding they were better as friends. She transfigures the hem from above the knee to mid-calf and adds some silver sparkles to the bodice.

That will have to do.

She uses a hair smoothing potion and forces her locks into sleek updo. Some glamour charms to add color to her cheeks round out the look, and she’s ready to go. She apparates to just outside the wards of Malfoy Manor and begins her long ascent up the road to their door.

She can feel it on the wind, that she’s on the brink of a sea change. A small part of her wants to back out, to cancel and turn back. But her inner Gryffindor is roaring for the first time in years. 

After what happened at the Ministry, she could use a change of pace. Voldemort may be dead, and the war long over, but the battle rages on in other ways. Taking on the notorious playboy Draco Malfoy will be an entirely new kind of challenge—and Hermione does loves a good challenge. It wouldn’t be life-threatening and could possibly even be entertaining.

“Welcome, Miss Granger,” a very poised house elf greets her. “My name is Wilt. The masters are waiting for you in the sitting room for drinks.” He takes her coat and vanishes it into a nearby closet—she hopes.

She follows Wilt to the sitting room and feels like she’s stepped into a painting. Lucius sits in one of the towering wingback chairs, his cane at his side, sipping a drink out of a crystal tumbler. Narcissa is perched on a settee, her midnight blue robes fanning out rather regally at her sides. And Draco stands in front of the fireplace, also sipping amber liquid from a glass that probably costs more than all her china combined.

“So glad you could join us, Granger,” Draco drawls. He throws her a wink at the end for good measure.

The nerve of this man. Merlin is he in for a rude awakening. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione says, looking at Lucius instead, who merely nods.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. Offer Miss Granger a drink.” Narcissa turns to her son. Her blonde hair sways like silk down her back, as if for the sole purpose of reminding Hermione how inelegant hers is in comparison.

“Of course.” He sets his glass on the mantel and walks over to the bar cart. 

Feeling awkward, Hermione follows him, not knowing what to do with—well, her entire body, really. There are several decanters filled with various colored liquids.

“You don’t strike me as a firewhisky girl,” he muses, his long fingers dancing over the tops of the bottles.

“You’d be correct. I typically prefer vodka-based cocktails,” she says, in a tone she hope conveys authority and poise.

“Ah, then I have just the thing.” He takes a tall, slender container out and pours her a generous two fingers before waving his wand to conjure two ice cubes. “This is pixie-made. Tastes a little like Stoli, only better.” She’s surprised that he is familiar with Muggle alcohol, but does her best to conceal it. His charms won’t work on her—the sooner he gets that, the better. 

He hands her the glass and Hermione takes a sip. It tastes clean and smooth—she licks her bottom lip to catch an errant drop automatically, inwardly cursing as his eyes flicker to catch the motion. “It’s very good, thanks.”

He smirks and returns to the mantle, taking his drink with him. There’s an awkward silence that descends on the four of them, but Hermione can’t help watching as Draco sips from his tumbler—were his lips always that full? She shakes her head and returns to her own glass. _Think about that salary instead,_ she chastises herself. Thank Merlin for alcohol.

Wilt interrupts the silence before she can embarrass herself by trying to start a conversation. “Dinner is being served.”

“Thank Salazar,” she hears Narcissa mutter.

The scenery outside is still within the throes of winter. It hasn’t snowed recently, but the trees are bare and add to the sinister ambience of the huge estate. She hears the wind howl and empathizes with the mournful sound. Her spine tingles, and it suddenly occurs to her that this is possibly the last place she wants to be.

“First course, leek and potato soup,” Wilt announces as bowls appear in front of them.

She is thankful for the appearance of food. The pixie vodka was quite strong, and she’s already feeling a tad lightheaded. She’ll need her wits about her to get through a whole meal with the entire Malfoy family. “This looks delicious,” she comments.

Narcissa takes a dainty spoonful and swallows. “You should’ve been here for the pumpkin soup.”

It isn’t until the main course—lamb shank with roasted red potatoes—that Lucius brings up the reason Hermione is there. “So Miss Granger, I take it this means you’ve accepted my proposal?”

Draco watches her cautiously, mirth in his eyes. She swallows the bite she’d been working on. The meat is tender and delicious. “Yes, after consideration, I think this will be beneficial to all parties involved.” She shoots Draco a stern look. 

“Good. I expect you to take this seriously—as you would any set of responsibilities given to you by your employer.” She chooses to ignore the dig at her professionalism. “I will owl you a list of expectations, but basically, my son will have a curfew and will not be engaging in certain behaviors going forward. His weekly stipend will be distributed only with your approval, and of course, your wages will be deposited directly into your Gringotts account on the first of every month.”

When he’s done, Hermione sips her drink, contemplating. “Understood. I accept these terms.”

“Good.” Lucius smiles before taking a bite of his food. He looks entirely too pleased for her comfort, and Hermione wonders if she’s missed something by agreeing too readily.

The rest of the meal passes without incident, and Hermione finds herself impressed with their ability to navigate conversation whilst avoiding uncomfortable topics. Not once is the war mentioned, or her blood status. Lucius talks a little about his business at Malfoy Enterprises, and Narcissa gives some updates on her philanthropic work. It seems she has a new event every other week, which makes sense, Hermione thinks cynically, as the family is clearly still trying to repair the damage done to their reputation by being on the wrong side in the war. If only not for their ragabond son, of course.

Draco, to his credit, is seemingly on his best behavior—or whatever passes for it. He keeps the antagonism to a minimum, though he does smirk at her quite a bit. After dinner is done, he shocks her by offering to walk her out. Lucius and Narcissa smile, content to believe that he’s already back on the right track. It would almost be like an awkward first dinner with her boyfriend’s parents—that is, if she were in the presence of literally any other wizard.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Draco steps into her personal space. “You clean up nicely, Granger.” He fingers a tendril of hair that’s come loose, and she sucks in a breath. “Have you given any thought to _our_ arrangement?”

He’s deliberately using his sex appeal to manipulate her, and she’s not sure if she wants to kiss him (thanks, pixie vodka) or punch him (again). She draws on her inner lion, swaying her hips to move forward. “I have, actually,” she says, in what she hopes is her sexiest voice. “Your father has hired me to do a job and I intend to do it. So no deal, I guess.”

She smiles sweetly and he takes a step back, mouth hardening into a line. “Fine.” He taps his breast pocket as if to assure himself about whatever lays inside. His tone is deeper and angrier when he says, “Then I’m not going to make it easy on you.”

She takes her coat from Wilt who has suddenly appeared beside them. “Oh I’d expect nothing less,” she says primly, all pretense of sexiness forgotten. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

His eyes narrow, but glimmer with a bit of amusement in the challenge. “Goodnight, Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was an Easter egg for [The Right Thing to Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472648) by my roomie, Lovesbitca8, in there. Did you catch it?
> 
> Updates will be every other Sunday until further notice. Next update on 2/9/20!


	2. I'm The Bad Guy... Duh.

“Hermione, you shouldn’t be here.” Harry doesn’t even look up from his desk as she sits down in the chair opposite him. “Weren’t you literally just sacked?”

“Yes, but I’m not banned from the building. Besides, I’m not staying long,” she says, flipping her riotous hair over one shoulder. 

“It’s not always about whether you  _ can _ do something, but whether you  _ should _ .” When she gives him a cold stare in return, Harry lowers his voice to almost a whisper. “I mean, you do remember that you injured one of my Aurors, right?”

She huffs. “Of course I remember the unfortunate accident that occured—”

“The unfortunate accident where you deliberately disobeyed orders and fired a stunning spell at a demonstrator,” he finishes for her.

“He was coming for my friend.” Not to mention—no, she can’t think about that right now. She pushes the memory away and swallows hard.

“A werewolf who was quite capable of protecting himself,” Harry counters.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” she says frostily. “Have you seen this?”

She plops the latest edition of  _ The Daily Prophet _ down on his desk, folded open to the society pages. There, in looping black and white, are pictures of Draco’s cavorting over the weekend. His smile is wide and self-indulgent as he pops open a champagne bottle over and over. One of the photos shows who she thinks is Theodore Nott swinging from an opulent chandelier while the crowd belows him shrieks and giggles. She sighs deeply, rubbing her temples. The Malfoys hadn’t asked her to start until Monday, so Draco must have put his last weekend of freedom to good use.

“Yeah, it’s a party. Doesn’t Malfoy often throw parties?” Harry finally looks up at her, thoroughly unconcerned, and possibly a bit annoyed.

She scoffs. “Yes, but—I don’t know how I’m expected to deal with this. He is out of control, and I feel like I’m already in over my head.”

Harry shrugs. “Just treat him like you did Ron and me on our Horcrux hunt.”

Hermione’s mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

“Look, you saved our lives more than once, but you did boss us around and mother us a lot. I’m just saying—” he quickly raises his hands in a defensive gesture—“that is a very useful skill when dealing with overgrown boys who need to be put in their place.”

She ponders it for a moment. At the time, she always considered her actions to be in the best interest of the group—even if she did get pushy, there were lives on the line. She never really thought about how it might be perceived. She sighs again. “I guess you’re right.”

“Hmm… Hermione Granger telling me I’m right. Have you been Imperiused?”

Her eyes narrow. “Ha ha. You’re a right comedian, Harry.”

“Why did you stop by, Hermione? Really.” There is a hint of exasperation in his voice, and she almost regrets bothering him over something so inconsequential.

She gives him a wry smile and waves her wand, a paper cup of coffee appearing on his desk. “Well I picked up coffee for you, but really I was just trying to delay going to the Manor.”

Harry’s eyes brighten as he snags the coffee and drinks greedily. Then he pushes his glasses back up and focuses on her. “Thanks. Just think about the money. Dealing with an overgrown prat may have a large price, but you’re getting paid rather well for it.”

“It  _ is  _ an obscene amount of money.”

He smiles. “That’s the spirit.”

* * *

When Hermione arrives at Malfoy Manor, she finds a team of house elves cleaning Draco’s wing. The ballroom with the chandelier from the picture is nearly in shambles, debris littered everywhere—broken glass, puddles of alcohol, bits of paper, and beads rolling around like someone’s necklace had been snapped. They make quick work of the mess, vanishing things with ease—but  _ still _ .

She scowls. “Wilt?”

The head elf rushes over, having opting to dress in a dapper waistcoat today. Apparently all of them are free and earning wages. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“How often does your staff have to clean up messes like this?”

“Often, Miss. Master Draco is always having big parties.”

Her hands move to her hips. “And where is he now?”

“Sleeping.”

“Thank you. Would you get breakfast started for him?” 

Wilt opens his mouth, as if he’s about to speak, but then he slowly nods. “Yes, Miss.”

“ _ Master _ Draco and I need to have a chat,” she says, and storms off in search of the troublemaker himself. 

His bedroom door is open, but he looks dead to the world. Hermione stomps in, not even looking to see if he’s decent or not, and throws open the curtains. Blinding sunlight streams into the room— but Draco is still unmoving. “Draco,” she snaps. Then louder, “DRACO!”

_ He is impossible! _ She takes the empty glass from his nightstand. “ _ Aguamenti _ ,” she hums, and it fills with cool water. She then throws it on his face.

“Hnnng— _ fuck! _ What the—!” he blinks his eyes open to see her standing before him. “Granger?” The sleepiness from his eyes vanishes, replaced by ire. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Get up. If you’re going to get your act together, you need to stop sleeping in till noon.”

He groans and rolls over onto his stomach, having already cast a drying spell for his wet face. Hermione scowls.  _ He really needs to sort out his priorities. _

Looking barely alive after the night he had, he glowers as he opens his fancy cigarette case and pulls one out, placing it between his lips. As he goes to light it, she snatches it away and crushes it beneath her heel, satisfaction coursing through her at the crunching tobacco leaves. “These things will kill you.”

“I suppose you think that’s your problem,” he deadpans, pulling another out and lighting it before she can grab it.

Hermione watches his swirl of smoke dissipate, tapping her foot as her blood boils. What has she gotten herself into? “If you keep this up, you’re going to wind up dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Granger.” He smirks before blowing another puff of smoke her way.

She rolls her eyes scathingly and marches back through the room, pausing at the entrance. “When you’re done with your cancer stick, breakfast is ready.” She slams the door behind her for emphasis, and she thinks she hears a muffled ‘fuck you’ from behind it.

Hermione is going over the day’s itinerary and sipping a cup of tea when Draco finally makes his way downstairs, clearly nursing a monstrous hangover. “He lives,” she sniffs.

“Never tickle a sleeping dragon. Don’t you remember, Granger?” He settles himself in at the head of the table and starts buttering his toast.

“I think that only applies to dragons who command respect.” She flashes him a coquettish smile.

Draco opens his mouth, but then must think better of it, taking a bite of his toast instead. After he finishes, he says, “When this headache goes away, I’m going to have a witty comeback for you.”

“You look awful, Malfoy. What happened—ran out of your supply of hangover potion?” 

“That is  _ exactly  _ what happened. I thought I had a vial or two left, but apparently I miscalculated.” He grimaces and takes a sip of coffee. 

“Pity.” She knows he’s out because she stole the vial sitting on his dresser when she was in his room. “Or—and hear me out—you could just stop getting drunk off your arse.”

“And have to bear your presence sober? No, thank you.” He manages a little smirk and takes another sip.

She makes a little noise of derision as she returns to her scroll. It seems that while Lucius laid down the terms, Narcissa is the one planning their day to day activities. Speaking of which, Hermione hasn’t seen the Malfoy matriarch at all today. She must be out running her own errands—whatever they may be.

“So what’s on the agenda of my ‘reformation plan’ today?” Draco asks. A little color has returned to his cheeks— he looks more like polished marble, and less like a ghost.

“Today is a relatively light day, looks like. You apparently need some new dress robes? And the other bullet point just says ‘keep our son alive,’ which is both pathetic and deeply concerning. Just what  _ have  _ you been up to, Malfoy?”

He shrugs. “The usual: sex, drugs, rock and roll.”

Hermione’s nostrils flare. “You are incorrigible.” 

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

_ It’s really not, _ she thinks.

* * *

“I don’t understand why I even have to come along. They have my measurements on hand at Twilfitt.”

“Clearly your mother wanted a female eye on these. I presume you’ll be wearing them to court pure-blood heiresses.”

“And you think my mother trusts your judgement in regards to fashion?” He’s walking briskly beside her, and Hermione has to make an effort to keep up, his much longer legs outpacing her.

“You have a point there. Even the most magnificent robes couldn’t transform you into someone remotely appealing to me. Nevertheless, this is our one big task, and you’re not going to ruin my first day.” She balls her fists at her side, trying to tamp down her frustration.

“I beg your pardon—” he stops in the middle of the street. “Are you saying you don’t find me attractive? Because I  _ know _ that’s a lie.”

She scoffs. “Right, because you know me  _ so _ well.”

“I do,” he murmurs, yanking her onto a side street and pressing her into a stone wall. Her eyes widen, and her breath leaves her. Did he just make a move on her in broad daylight? “For instance, I bet I could kiss you right now and you wouldn’t stop me.” 

His face is dangerously close to hers, and Hermione swallows. It is unnerving to say the least, but she can’t let him get the upper hand so early on. Plus, although she’s loathe to admit it, she’s not entirely sure he’s wrong. She moves closer until their lips are only centimeters apart. 

“You wish.” She makes sure to over-enunciate so they’re nearly touching—then she wrenches herself free of his grasp. “If you manhandle me again, Malfoy, I’ll hex your bollocks off.”

He laughs and straightens out his robes, then produces a silver coffin-like flask from an interior pocket. He takes a deep swig before joining her on the main street with a mocking bow. Hermione watches the whole display with barely concealed disgust. Ignoring him, she plows forward, trying to focus on the insane amount of Galleons she’s being paid as she ushers Malfoy into Twilfitt and Tattings.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione decides this place isn’t so bad—probably due to the champagne that the shop witch brings her while Draco tries on the different clothing items. When he steps out of the dressing room, her mouth parts slightly before she remembers just who it is she’s looking at. 

He looks good—better than good, almost edible. The cut is rather like a muggle three-piece suit and it is exquisitely tailored to his lean yet muscular form. He’s skinnier than he used to be, but somehow still wears it well.

“Well, Granger? Do I rate your approval?” he says as he turns, and Hermione tries desperately not to think about how fit his arse looks in the black trousers.

“Yes, that’s um—acceptable, I think.” Anything more than a lukewarm compliment will surely make his ego expand three sizes.

Still, he must take in her physical reaction as well, because he simply smirks. “Speechless, Granger? If you’d like to see more of me, you need only ask.”

She rolls her eyes. They’re going to get stuck that way if she has to deal with this every day. “In your dreams, Malfoy.” She hopes the flush in her cheeks can be blamed solely on the champagne.

* * *

When they arrive back at the Manor, there are two people waiting in Draco’s personal sitting room: Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.

Hermione turns to him with a glare, and he merely shrugs, putting on his best smirk for his friends.

“There you are, mate! We’ve been here for nearly an hour,” Nott exclaims, jumping up and giving Draco a clap on the back.

“And I see you’ve had tea,” Hermione remarks, seeing the cups, saucers, and empty plates of what were probably sandwiches the elves were forced to whip together. “Theodore, Blaise,” she says coolly. It isn’t as much of a greeting as it is an acknowledgement that they exist.

“It’s Theo, darling,” he says with a wink.

“Oh Granger, how lovely to see you again,” Blaise says as he rises and comes over, taking her hand in his and giving her knuckles a brief kiss.

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

“She says, dripping with sarcasm,” Theo adds.

Hermione gives them a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t you boys have somewhere else to be? Other lives to ruin, perhaps?”

“She’s feistier than I remember,” Blaise says. “Was she always this feisty?”

Draco gives her a look that could only be described as nostalgic. “Always.” It passes before she can analyze it too much. “Well, boys, what have you got for me?”

Theo and Blaise look at Draco and then at Hermione, trying to communicate something wordlessly. She figures it out just as Malfoy says, “Right.” He turns and grabs her by the shoulders, walking her backwards out of the room. “Sorry, Granger. No girls allowed, you understand.”

“But—” she winds up saying to the slamming door. She jiggles the handle, but it’s locked. Then she goes to grab her wand, only to find it missing.  _ That bastard! _ “Malfoy, give me back my wand!”

She hears his muffled voice through the door. “You’ll get it back after our meeting. Library’s down the hall!”

Hermione throws up her hands and silently screams at the door, as she wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of hearing her actual frustration. She can deal with Malfoy later, after the others leave. Then—cursing him under her breath—she goes off in search of the library. She  _ has  _ been a bit curious since she arrived, anyway. 

On her first Christmas break from Hogwarts, Hermione’s parents had taken her to see the new Disney animated movie in which the main character loves reading. There were other plot points—something about a beast and breaking a curse—but what stuck with Hermione was the impressive library. She feels a little like that now, stepping through the double doors into Malfoy Manor’s library. 

The shelves are stacked quite possibly to the ceiling—it’s so high up, she can barely even tell. The room seems to stretch indefinitely. She thinks she can make out a window at the end, but it’s too far back to be sure. She wanders in reverently, inspecting the different titles and bindings. 

In fact, she spends so long trying to suss out the size and organization of the library that she doesn’t even get to pick out a book before she hears a lilting, pretentious voice calling for her. “Oh, Granger?”

She snaps out of book reverie, squares her shoulders, and marches back to the entrance of the massive library. Coming toe to toe with her smirking charge, she thrusts her open hand out. “My wand?”

He hands it over with a raised brow, and she quickly snatches it up, turning it on him. “If you ever  _ touch  _ my wand again, Malfoy—”

“You’ll what?” He straightens his spine, looming over her, crowding her personal space again. “Hex me?” She says nothing, eyeing him furiously. “Listen, Granger. I know my parents put you in charge of the money, but you are  _ not  _ my boss. You don’t get to control me.”

Her hands fly to her hips. “I don’t know exactly what you and Blaise and Theo are up to, but I  _ will  _ find out. And I bet it costs  _ money _ to keep your little schemes going, am I right?”

His mouth hardens as he stares at her. She lifts her chin, refusing to back down. At last his eyes flicker, and the tension in his shoulders releases. “Just—don’t treat me like a child, Granger. I have a right to speak with my friends without a babysitter.” 

“Fine. Stop acting like one. And don’t touch my wand again.”

“Fine.”

Somewhat of a truce reached for now, Hermione follows him out of the room. “You have a very nice library,” she mutters.

He sighs. “I knew you’d like it.”

It’s getting close to dinner time, so she asks, “Do you eat dinner with your parents?”

“They’re normally not around. When they are, they usually take dinner in their personal wing—except for Sundays. Sundays we eat together ‘as a family’—what a farce.”

“Oh. Then I should probably stay for dinner.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Someone should see to it that you’re eating properly.” She tries a genuine smile, but fears it comes out as more of a grimace. “No one wants to marry a skeleton, no matter how rich he is.”

“I didn’t see you complaining earlier when I was modeling my new robes.” He snorts, but doesn’t fight her as they walk together to the sitting room, or while Hermione gives instructions to Wilt for a nutritious meal. 

She should have known that the elf would take it to heart when they are finally called to the dining room, and a veritable feast is laid out before them—there’s a whole roast pheasant, brussel sprouts, carrots, and parsnips, as well as a fresh loaf of bread with butter. 

“Excellent. Thank you, Wilt.”

“Yes, Miss Granger.” He bows low before snapping his fingers, making plates with perfect portions of each dish appear in front of them.

“This is a lot,” Draco muses.

“You’ll find you have a lot more room if you’re not drinking your dinner,” she snipes. “Just try to eat some of it, please?”

He smirks, picking up a fork. “I knew I’d have you begging eventually.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Gross.”

He eats about half of what’s on his plate before returning to whatever is in his glass—firewhisky, Hermione assumes. At least it’s a start. She massages her temples, feeling a headache coming on. She should probably brew a giant batch of pain relief potion, since this is likely to be a recurring problem in the months to come.

When she throws her coat on to leave, Malfoy is there leaning against a wall. “Leaving so soon?”

She smirks. “I bet you’re just as glad to be rid of me as I am to get out of here.”

He shrugs, and she fleetingly wonders if maybe he’s not.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione arrives at 9:00am. She doesn’t actually expect Draco to be awake, but she also doesn’t expect the lithe brunette that’s sprawled across his naked chest. Deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine, she puts on her best jilted lover face. “HOW COULD YOU?” she shrieks, stunning the both of them awake.

The brunette squeaks and scrambles for her clothes and shoes as Hermione continues. “And in  _ our  _ bed, no less. I go away for one night and come home to find you shagging—” she stops as soon as the girl runs out of earshot, and collapses into a fit of laughter.

“Classy, Granger.” Draco glowers as he rubs his eyes, and reaches for a potion by his bed. He must have brewed himself a new batch overnight.

“Look who’s talking.” She crosses her arms. “Where on earth did you pick her up?” 

“Muggle pub.”

Hermione is aghast and has to make sure she heard him correctly. “What?”

“Well, I got bored after you left, and my normal crowd was busy. So I went to a Muggle pub and found her.” At her disapproving look, he adds, “Don’t worry, I was back before curfew.”

Fuck. In her haste to leave, she had forgotten about him having a curfew. She should’ve stuck around until then. “You mean you deign to sleep with Muggles now? How very progressive of you.”

He stretches and sits up, the sheet conveniently sliding down to expose his bare chest. “Pure-bloods, half-bloods, Muggleborns, Muggles—they’re all pink where it counts.” He gives her a look that has her suppressing a shudder. 

“Excuse me, I need to go vomit.” She turns on her heel and strides out of the room, ignoring the distinct sound of him chuckling.

Hermione feels a weird sensation in her stomach at the thought of Draco bedding Muggle girls now. Maybe he already slept with all the single witches around, and had to move on out of necessity. She snorts in derision as she goes down to the dining room to have her cup of tea and wait for him to show up.

Wilt is somewhat friendlier to her today. It seems that he’s accepted that she’s now a part of daily life, and treats her as such. She is adding the sugar cubes to her second cup of tea when Malfoy arrives, looking a little like a youthful wizarding equivalent of Hugh Hefner in his elaborate housecoat and ascot. It’s definitely leisurewear—but it’s expensive. She rolls her eyes as he takes his seat with a flourish.

“Don’t you eat breakfast, Granger?” He dips a spoon into his soft boiled egg, served in its little cup.

“I would, but I always seem to lose my appetite around you.” She gives him a pointed look.

He pops the spoon into his mouth and draws it out in an alluring fashion, being sure to lick all the yolk clean. She tries to shift her attention away from his tongue. “What a pity.”

“Hmm” She pauses to take a sip. “Actually, I rarely eat breakfast. I have tea and that usually holds me over until lunch.”

He nods, then leans back in his chair. “So what kind of hellish landscape do my parents have planned for us today?”

She looks at the paper in front of her. “It looks like you have some paperwork to fill out at the office—really? Your father couldn’t have just let you fill it out here?”

“Oh, he just wants to check in on his darling son, I’m sure.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “Then tea at the  _ Pure-blood Society. _ Is this a bloody joke?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean, yes, the tea will be a travesty of epic proportions, but the society itself is mostly for the preservation of pure-blood history and traditions from ages past. It’s not a Voldemort fan club.”

Her eyes widen at his use of the former Dark Lord’s name. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him say it before. “Good to know. So we agree that it will be insufferable.”

He sighs in silent agreement. “Very much a ‘see and be seen’ sort of thing.”

“And next: dinner with Pansy Parkinson?” The words have barely left her lips when they both groan in unison.

“Why? Mother knows I won’t be marrying her.”

“I guess this is part of cleaning up your image and keeping up appearances. I just wonder what I’m supposed to do while you have dinner.”  _ Sit at the bar and get pissed, most likely. _

Malfoy makes a noncommittal noise. He finishes his food and slips his cigarette case out.

“Absolutely not. Not in the house, you prat.” She points towards the double doors that lead outside.

Draco pouts dramatically but goes over to open the doors leading to a little veranda. After a moment of debate, she follows him. She watches him smoke, the cigarette perched between his long fingers. She tries to convince herself he doesn’t look sexy doing it. 

She can only handle the silence for so long before she goes out to join him. “Why cigarettes? I mean, they’re a Muggle invention.”

He ignores her question. “You know, growing up I had a governess. My parents never needed to work a day in their life, but they still left the raising of their only son to a stranger.”

Hermione just looks at him as he takes another drag, intuiting he doesn’t need her to respond.

“She was beautiful—Hilda, that was her name. She stopped working for us right before I went to Hogwarts, but I remember thinking that I would marry her when I got older.” He gives her a wistful smile.

She softens a bit. “Draco—”

He doesn’t let her finish. “She also refused to take any of my shit.”

Hermione laughs and leans her arms on the railing. “Smart woman.”

“They relax me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s all in my head, but I haven’t found a potion that puts me at ease the way these Muggle death sticks do.”

She nods, accepting the explanation for now.

*

Malfoy Enterprises is a sprawling campus. It sits on a large parcel of land in Basingstoke, conveniently halfway between Wiltshire and London. Hermione looks over the directory—accounting, customer service, fulfillment, research and development—what the hell do they do here, exactly?

The witch at reception is busy flirting with Draco as she prepares passes for him and Hermione. Her red hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, and she gives Hermione a suspicious once-over when she hands them the badges. “Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Hardly,” Hermione scoffs. “I’m his—”

“Assistant,” Draco cuts in. “My personal assistant.” 

“Oh, I see.” The redhead flashes a coy smile.

Hermione presses her lips in a thin line and starts towards the lift. She pauses and looks back to find Draco still flirting with the receptionist. Clearing her throat loudly, she watches him make a slight bow before taking his precious time to join her.

“Must you be so gag-inducing?”

“Jealous, are we, Granger?”

“Please,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes as they enter the lift.

When they reach the top floor, Lucius doesn’t even come out of his office to greet them. His personal secretary, a lithe wizard with dark, slicked-back hair, hands Malfoy the paperwork and leads them to an empty conference room to fill it out.

Draco goes to sign the first page, and Hermione stops him. “Aren’t you going to read it first?”

“Why? I know what it says. This is the paperwork giving up my place as the future head of the company. I’ll be a shareholder and on the board, but I can never be CEO.”

“You—you’re okay with that?”

“I have zero interest in running this sham of a company.” He looks around and lowers his voice a little. “I don’t even really know what they  _ do _ here. At first I assumed it was a ruse to distract the Ministry from whatever my father is really doing with his time, but there are all these employees now.”

She nods in understanding. “As long as you’re comfortable with the decision.”

He considers her for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. “Thanks, Granger.”

* * *

Tea at the  _ Pure-blood Society _ is every bit as painful as Hermione imagined. The men and women—almost all of them older witches and wizards—drone on endlessly about things she can’t be arsed to care about, let alone remember. When none of them are looking, she watches Draco slip his flask from his pocket and pour something into his tea. 

She gives him an admonishing look, but her heart isn’t in it. In fact, she kind of wishes she had a flask, too. No one asks her questions, content to believe she is Malfoy’s assistant. She hadn’t challenged him when he told the lie, deciding to let him keep his pride. 

None of the attendees seem to recognize her, which Hermione thinks is telling. She’s somewhat of a famous war hero, but clearly these people are content to live in their own little world, too refined and self-important for “politics.” 

Once it’s over, they have an hour or two before dinner with Pansy, so Hermione accompanies him back to the Manor in order to freshen up. Against her better judgment, she follows him to his bedroom, telling him she wants to make sure he isn’t slamming Firewhisky before dinner. Thankfully, he doesn’t question it. 

Perched in a chair by the window, after insisting he close the  _ damn bathroom door while he changes,  _ she quickly learns that Draco Malfoy is more high maintenance than she could ever hope to be. She doesn’t speak this aloud, but he somehow reads her mind anyway, because when he finally emerges, he says, “You could do to spend a little more time on your appearance, Granger. I mean, you work for me now. You should try to be presentable. Do something with your hair at least.”

Hermione bristles. She has been wearing the same clothing she would wear to work at the Ministry for her job here, which she thought was professional and appropriate. “Correction: I work for your  _ father. _ ”

“Semantics. Come, let’s see if there’s something in here to fit you.” She scowls at him before deciding that wearing something dressier might help her fit in better at the restaurant. She reluctantly joins him.

He smirks, but wisely holds his tongue. He then leads her into a guest room, throwing open the doors to another, smaller room that appears to be a closet. It’s filled with women’s clothes.

“Where did you get all this?” She wanders into the closet behind him, because of course there’s room for two fully grown adults inside.

He shrugs. “Most of it was left here. I don’t know how because it seems unlikely that women would leave here naked, but…” he trails off, waving a hand around. 

There are cocktail dresses in nearly every color, some nice dress robes, a few nightgowns. Hermione swallows while thinking about all the women he must’ve slept with to accumulate so many discarded items.

She can feel him watching her. “Some of it I found after parties ended. It’s not all just from people I’ve fucked.”

“Malfoy,” she says through gritted teeth, “are you using legilimency on me?” She doubts it, but has to ask anyway.

“No,  _ ma belle _ , you’re just exceedingly easy to read.” He flashes her a grin. “It’s primarily a Gryffindor problem, always wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

“Hmmph,” she mumbles, lifting her chin as she looks through the clothes. She’ll have to get better about hiding her emotions around him. Finally she finds a simple navy blue number, nothing too distracting. “How’s this?”

Draco looks at the dress then lets his eyes rake over her in a way that gives her gooseflesh. “That should do.”

* * *

This is torture. Hermione isn’t sure what she’s done wrong to deserve a fate like this, but she would gladly pray to a whole pantheon of gods to relieve her from this misery. She’s sitting at the bar of this new upscale restaurant in Diagon, The Regent, sipping her Pinot Noir while she listens to the shrill voice of Pansy bloody Parkinson over her shoulder, going on about the spring line of some witch fashion designer.

She thought Draco should be able to get through one lousy dinner by himself. However, after he left her alone to get changed, she noticed a glazed look in his eyes and the slightest of slurs in his speech.

“Malfoy, are you—high?” she demanded. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Granger.” Then he stumbled as they were putting on their coats. She gave him her sternest look. “ _ Fine. _ Yes. I must’ve made this batch too strong.” 

She sighed and rubbed her temple. This was going to be a long night. “You know there will be people there. This dinner is to help  _ improve _ your appearance, not solidify it as an addict!”

“I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to get through a dinner with Pansy completely sober? Not going to happen.”

She huffs loudly, snatching her coat. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you two used to date?”

“More like we used to fuck. We’ve never really been great at the whole being friends bit.”

“Malfoy—”

“I’ll be fine, Granger. Let’s go.”

She winces as the sound of high pitched laughter fills her ears, dragging her back to the present. He is a brilliant actor, she has to give him that. She can hear the pleased tone in Pansy’s voice as he compliments her dress and asks all the right questions. If she didn’t know differently, she wouldn’t even be able to tell he’s high.

“So what’s with your  _ bodyguard _ ?” Pansy finally asks him, fully aware that Hermione can hear, she’s sure.

“Granger’s my personal assistant.”

Pansy scoffs. “You really expect me to believe that? Last I heard, she got sacked from the Ministry, but even I know she has too much pride for that job.”

Draco’s voice is restrained when he says, “Father has hired her to help me reform my image.”

Pansy’s cackle makes Hermione jump a little. “Oh that’s rich. The mudblood is reforming  _ you. _ ”

“Don’t—don’t use that word.” Draco’s defense of her comes as a surprise. She tries to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling rising up inside, choosing to blame the wine.

“Draco Malfoy, don’t tell me you’ve come to care for that prissy little swot.” 

Hermione clenches her fist and tries to remember that things would not go well if she hexed Pansy at this moment.

“Hardly,” Draco responds. “But I’m not a bigot anymore. I have a new image to maintain, remember?”

“Right,” Pansy drawls, and a long silence follows.

When they’re finally back at the Manor, and Hermione is preparing to leave for the evening, she takes a moment to look him in the eye. “Thank you, for defending me… to Pansy.”

He softens for just a moment before his mask hardens into place. “We’re not friends, Granger. I loathe your presence in my life and it would go best for us both if you remember that I’m not a good guy. You can’t fix me.”

Her stomach drops from his harsh reply and her mouth falls open. She is trying to formulate words, but he turns and disapparates before giving her a chance to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to raven_maiden!
> 
> Next update 2/23.


	3. Not As Think As You Drunk I Am

The next time Hermione sees Draco, she doesn't bring up what happened, and neither does he. He's back to his typical inappropriate, cocksure self.

Who knows the reasoning behind his outburst. She tells herself she doesn't care—but then remembers that it's unfortunately part of her job. She resolves to leave it alone for now, but she certainly has her guard up more. He was right that they're not friends. She has a job to do.

Somehow she makes it through a whole week of shepherding Malfoy around to appointments and meetings and pointless teas. Crookshanks is displeased that she’s been gone so much, even though she’s been giving him special treats to make up for it. 

“I’m sorry, Crooks,” she croons as she scratches his head. 

He shoots her an angry look but nuzzles up against her side anyway. She’s finally putting herself to bed after a long day with Draco. He was particularly insufferable that day—pitching a fit about her insistence that he itemize his requests for his monthly allowance—but she held firm. She can secretly admit there’s a bit of pleasure in being the one to keep him in line, refusing to kowtow to his tantrums. And her first deposit certainly didn’t hurt her satisfaction with the job. 

She’s been sending Lucius daily reports and he has yet to complain, so she can only assume it’s going well. Hopefully she can make it through till Draco’s birthday and find some pure-blood witch willing to marry him. Then she’ll be free of the tosser, and her bank account will have more than enough money to start her own business. She falls asleep thinking about the endless possibilities.

_ “Draco,” she groans against his neck. _

_ He has her shoved up against a wall and his hand is underneath her dress, his fingers pushing aside her knickers to dip into her heat. “So wet for me, Granger. I knew I’d have you begging for it.” _

_ She keens as he swirls his digits around her clit, then thrusts them forcefully inside. He pumps into her roughly as he sucks on the delicate skin beneath her earlobe. Then he’s picking her up and carrying her to the bed. He’s on top of her, inside of her, everywhere. _

Hermione wakes with a start, the sunlight streaming into her room and Crooks eyeing her suspiciously from his comfy chair in the corner. Merlin help her, why is she suddenly having sex dreams about Malfoy? She’d resolved to understand him better, but at a good, professional distance—and that dream was anything but. Her cheeks flush. It must be all the time they’re spending together. So what if she’s noticed on occasion how attractive he’s gotten. It doesn’t mean anything. 

She rubs her thighs together and touches the outside of her sleep shorts. She’s soaked them through. She groans and goes to take a shower, refusing to touch herself while thoughts of that entitled prat are still on her mind.

Hermione inadvertently takes more care in dressing herself today. She lands on a crimson dress that is still professional, but she uses a smoothing potion on her hair and twirls it into a low chignon. She frowns at her reflection. If she adds a touch of lipstick, what’s the harm? They are attending the opening of a new wing in St. Mungo’s later in the evening, so she should look nice.

As she’s gathering her things and preparing to apparate over, there’s a knock at her door.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Ron greets her as she opens the door.

“Hi, Ron. What are you doing here? I’m just on my way to work.”

He stares at her for a second. “You’re dressed like that for Malfoy?”

She feels heat rush to her cheeks. “We have a thing to attend in the evening. It’s not  _ for _ him, trust me.”

“A thing…” he trails off, clearly wondering what exactly that thing could be. 

“Did you need something, Ronald? I don’t want to be late.” She folds her arms, a bit irritated. 

She and Ron broke up ages ago, after a rocky few months of trying to make it as a couple. They remained friends, but for some reason he insists on being a nosy wanker when it comes to her social life.

“Oh. Right.” He shrugs sheepishly. “Well, we just hadn’t seen you since you started this job. You missed happy hour last week.”

Right. Because she was dealing with Malfoy. “I’m sorry,” she says, softening. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Anyway, I wanted to check on you. And also invite you to this.” He thrusts a flyer into her hand. “Have a good day at work—you look really pretty.”

“Thanks,” she responds, but he’s already turned to leave. She looks at the paper in her hand—an advertisement for open mic night at the new pub they’ve been frequenting. She’s surprised a wizarding establishment would even be familiar with the concept. Is Ron performing at this? Oh no, what if he’s trying his hand at stand up comedy? He’d be terrible.

She shakes her head, debating whether to chase after him—but no. She doesn’t have time to get involved with this at the moment. If she doesn’t leave now, she’ll be late.

* * *

“Miss Granger,” Wilt greets her when she enters the Manor. They have adjusted the gates to let her pass through, but she still can’t apparate directly inside the building. Normally she doesn’t mind because the walk up the path is nice—today, however, she’s agitated.

“Good Morning, Wilt. Is Master Draco still asleep?”

“No, Miss. He is downstairs.”

Downstairs means the potions lab, and Hermione starts to wonder about the other night, how he’d gotten high before dinner with Pansy. She makes her way down there, briskly pushing open the door to find him darting about the cavernous room amidst bubbling cauldrons and scattered ingredients. He’s wearing an apron to protect his clothes, and his hair is a bit mussed. 

He looks almost  _ cute,  _ like a mad scientist from a cartoon. Or a disheveled professor. She frowns, trying not to think about her dream from earlier. “Malfoy, what are you doing?”

“Granger, about time you arrived.” He zips around to add just a drop of something green to the cauldron at the end of the table. It flashes for a moment before resuming its bubbling.

She walks over to him and sees the dark circles under his eyes. “Did you even sleep?”

“No time to sleep when you’re trying to brew the perfect draught.” He seems almost manic, constantly moving. He turns his gaze to her. “You look—not terrible.”

She rolls her eyes. It would probably kill him to give her a real compliment. “What on Earth is all this? Don’t forget we have that thing at St. Mungo’s later.”

“I’ll be done in plenty of time.” He stirs one of the cauldrons and smiles to himself. “Adding peppermint to this one was a good call.”

“Adding peppermint to  _ what,  _ exactly?” 

He waves his wand, ignoring her, and half a dozen rows of small vials start filling with the liquid until the cauldron is empty. Before Hermione can press him further, Theo Nott appears. He looks Hermione up and down with appreciation. “Lovely to see you again, Granger. Red is a good color on you.” 

She scowls at him, biting back any sarcastic remark she might have otherwise said. She is regretting her promise not to embarrass Draco in front of his friends. Theo smirks, then turns to Draco. “It’s ready?”

Draco nods and brandishes his wand again. All the little vials disappear, and Theo is now holding what looks like an old doctor’s medical bag. “I added peppermint to this batch, which I think should lessen the side effects.”

“Excellent,” Theo says. “Have time to test it?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute to clean up. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Theo leaves and Hermione turns to Draco, hands on her hips. “Draco Malfoy, are you brewing drugs?”

He shrugs. “They’re potions, technically.”

“But they get people—including yourself—high.”

“Well, yes. But you might think of them as medicinal. They’re great at helping you survive interminable luncheons—”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “You are impossible!” 

“So I’m told.” 

Taking a deep breath, she tamps down her anger. There’s no way this is acceptable, let alone legal—but she resolved to remain professional. She can’t just lash out at him, not when she needs him to trust her, to listen to her.

His face darkens, and he takes a step closer. “I don’t know what you want from me, Granger. I’m not some pet you can train.”

“Ugh, that isn’t…!” She stomps her foot. “I want you to not be high at the opening tonight! I want you to find a nice pure-blood girl to settle down with instead of getting sloshed every night with your mates! I want you have at least a semblance of a normal job and relationship so I can complete my assignment and  _ move on with my life!” _

“Oh, so I’m just an  _ assignment _ to you? A little box for you to check and file away?” He rips his apron off, bunching it into a ball and throwing it on the floor.

She gapes at him. “That’s—that’s not what I meant.”

“You know what, why don’t you just pick someone and collect your money early. I’m guaranteed to be miserable no matter who it is, so let’s just get it over with. It’s not like you care what kind of life I have anyway.”

“I never said—” She clears her throat, suddenly feeling out of depth. “Your parents want you to—” 

“Tell me, Granger. Do you think my parents are happy? Do you think they want  _ me  _ to be happy? They just want things to appear perfect. They don’t give a flying fuck what happens behind the scenes, so save the heroism for someone who actually deserves it.”

“Draco,” she starts, lifting a hand as if to touch him, but he brushes past her and up the stairs. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later, she has collected herself and arrived on a course of action. They need to talk. She’s almost at the sitting room in Draco’s wing when she hears him and Theo laughing. The door is slightly ajar, so she peeks inside and sees them side by side on the couch. Draco looks lighter somehow, carefree and self-assured, as if their fight never happened. Her hand freezes before she knocks, and she pauses for a moment just to watch them. 

His words from earlier sting, though she isn’t sure why. She  _ has  _ been treating him as just a job—as a rather complicated assignment that ends after she helps him clean up his act and find someone to marry. He was the one who said they weren’t friends. How could she have known he’d get offended when she pointed out that her employment was temporary?

She bristles at his accusation that she’s cold and unfeeling. That’s not how she approaches anyone—not even Draco Malfoy _.  _ Besides, she’s already starting to think of him as more than just an overgrown brat or her former bully (sex dream notwithstanding). He’s already shown her hints of something deeper, that there’s more to him than she previously thought.

She’s lost in thought right up through the moment the door swings open. 

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to eavesdrop, Granger?” Malfoy asks her as she jumps. 

“Not eavesdropping,” she mumbles, entering the room. “I was just about to knock.” 

“Come sit,” Theo says, patting the space next to him. Hermione pauses, considering. She never really noticed before how attractive he is—his light brown hair and blue eyes with just a hint of sun to his skin. Theo looks like one of those boys who’s dangerous because he makes you think he’s not. Still, if she wants to know Draco’s comings and goings, it can’t hurt to appear friendly. 

Hermione sits down beside him, and Draco watches them for several moments before speaking. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” Theo asks innocently, the beginning of a grin pulling at his lips.

“You’re not shagging her. I have to spend the next six months with her, so she’s off limits, Nott.”

Hermione’s eyes widen in surprise, but before she can utter a word, Theo is laughing. “You just want to keep her for yourself,” he accuses.

“Excuse me?” Hermione flushes in spite of herself. They’re being completely ridiculous. “Do I not get a say in the people I shag?”

“Fine,” Theo says, turning to her. “Who would you rather shag, me or Draco?”

Her mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.

“You don’t have to answer that, Granger,” Draco says, his cheeks slightly pinkening.

Thank Merlin. Presently, she at least knows who her subconscious prefers. And it’s really not letting her forget. “Like I would.” She gives them a condescending smile.

“Oh come on, I think the answer might be enlightening. Don’t you agree, Draco?” Theo has the smile of a cad, and the sight of it confirms her suspicion that he is definitely not to be trusted.

Draco looks her over once more, his grey eyes somehow even more unnerving than usual. He swallows, and she watches the motion, staring at his neck for a beat too long. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, clearly I’m not needed here.” Hermione moves to rise, but Theo’s hand moves to her knee.

“Stay.”

She shoots a startled glance at Draco, who seems busy trying to bore holes into Theo with his stare.

Hermione’s eyes fall on the side table—there’s a pair of empty vials. She sharply looks up at both of them. “Did you two— _ partake _ of what’s in there?”

“Yes,” they answer in unison.

She crosses her arms. “I suppose that explains why you’re acting like a pair of dogs.”

Draco stops staring daggers at Theo long enough to look at her. “I think you’re right.” He frowns thoughtfully. “I think it needs Billywig stings.”

“Yes,” Theo agrees. “The high is fine, but the sexual aggression is new. You might actually want to leave, Hermione.”

“Noted,” she says sourly, before scurrying out of the room.  _ That was uncomfortable. _

*

She kills time in the library until she can’t wait any longer. Draco needs to get ready soon, or they’ll be late. Sighing, she shelves her book and trudges back to the main hall. She turns the corner just as Theo does. They both freeze, leaving a wide distance between them.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry about earlier. It was definitely a side effect of the potion.”

“You should be.” He looks a little cowed, so Hermione sighs, shaking off her unease. “I accept your apology.” 

“Listen,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’d never put the moves on you.” She doesn’t know how to respond to that, but before she can think of something, he continues, “Not because I wouldn’t want to—just because Draco would kill me.”

Her eyes widen as his words wash over her. Then she snorts. “Right. Like he cares.”

“Come off it, Granger. You know he’s always had eyes for you.”

Hermione laughs until she sees Theo’s intense look. “Wait, you’re being serious?”

“I had thought it was rather obvious. Blaise and I always used to make fun of him for it.”

She swallows thickly. “No, I’m sure you’re wrong.”

Theo just shrugs before grabbing a handful of Floo powder and leaving. 

Hermione stares at the fireplace for several moments before going off in search of her ward. Nott must be yanking her chain. There’s no way Malfoy liked her before—he barely tolerates her now. She stops in one of the many powder rooms downstairs to check her appearance. She has to be presentable too, after all. She charms the wrinkles out of her dress and uses a glamour charm to refresh her makeup.

The door is open to Draco’s room so she pushes it just a tad, letting herself in. “Malfoy?” she calls softly.

There is the noise of shuffling coming from the closet area. Cautiously, she moves closer until he comes into view. He has his trousers on, but his shirt is completely open as he goes to button it. She pushes the closet door open wide, announcing her presence, but he doesn’t look up. 

She can see the faint scars left from the Sectumsempra curse Harry hit him with in sixth year. She can also see just a hint of his ribs from where he’s lost weight, and it concerns her.

He’s still beautiful, though. She’d have to be blind not to notice that. His stormy eyes focus on nothing in particular as he finishes his buttons and grabs his tie. 

She clears her throat, breaking her trance. “Let me help you,” she offers, moving closer.

His eyes flicker to her for the first time. “I know how to tie a tie, Granger.”

“Yes, but I’m getting paid to do it, so shut it.” She yanks it from his grasp and steps directly in front of him.

He smirks after a moment, and she can feel him watching as she loops it over, under, and through. “Not bad.” He looks mildly amused.

“Back at you.” She smiles up at him tentatively, then quickly ducks her head. They leave his room, and the oddity of sharing a tender moment with him washes over her. It’s  _ nice, _ actually. She supposes it’s enough of a truce for now.

When they arrive at St. Mungo’s, Narcissa is already there, looking radiant in midnight purple dress robes. Multiple strands of pearls wind around her elegant neck, which stretches as she air kisses some of the other witches and wizards in attendance.

“Draco!” she exclaims upon seeing her son. She breezes over to wrap him in a hug. Hermione hears her whisper, “You’re looking quite sober—it suits you.”

“Thank you, Mother,” he mumbles.

Then Narcissa turns to Hermione. “And Miss Granger, you look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, dear—call me Narcissa.”

Hermione opens her mouth to reply, but then Narcissa is whisked away by another opulent older witch to meet some other big name donors.

Draco looks around, and then at her. “Is there any alcohol at this event?”

Hermione scowls, looping her arm through his in an attempt to mask her intention of physically restraining him. “Let’s go mingle.”

They find champagne, and she begrudgingly allows him one flute as they wait for the ribbon cutting on the new Malfoy Ward for Grievous Injuries. It is a rather stuffy affair, and a half hour passes unremarkably until they spot Pansy Parkinson from across the room. She saunters over, a picture of sophistication in black glittering dress robes.

“Don’t you two make a lovely couple,” she says coolly, holding her champagne aloft as if she can see her reflection in the glass.

Draco raises a brow, then takes his time looking Hermione over. She tries not to flush under the heat of his gaze. “We do, don’t we?”

Pansy scoffs. “Yes, well I certainly wouldn’t put it beneath you to shag your  _ assistant. _ ” She too gives Hermione a once-over. “You know, Granger _ ,  _ there was a time when Draco didn’t think so highly of you. I seem to recall him wishing you dead in our second year.” 

“Good thing our school days are past us then,” Hermione replies. “And you’re assuming a lot, Parkinson. For instance, that I’d ever let him  _ near _ my Chamber of Secrets.”

Draco starts laughing as Pansy nearly chokes on her champagne. 

“I wonder how many men in this room are familiar with  _ your _ secrets?” Hermione tilts her head at her. “Not that I care who you shag, but since you’re so interested in  _ my _ sex life...” She raises an eyebrow as she trails off. 

Draco is full-on guffawing now. Inwardly, she delights in how red Pansy’s cheeks have turned. She wisely walks away to talk to one of the Greengrass girls before another word is spoken.

“That was brilliant, Granger. Careful, or I just might propose to you instead of one of your pure-blood girls.” Hermione ignores his comment. Draco finishes his champagne and places the empty flute on a passing tray. “I haven’t seen Pansy speechless in years.”

“Every time that girl opens her mouth, she manages to make me despise her even more than I already do.”

Draco places a hand at the small of her back as they do a lap of the room. “Join the club.”

“So where’s your father this evening?” She changes the subject, if only to distract from the warmth his hand is creating through her dress.

“Probably ‘working late’ at the office. I think he just sits there and drinks, honestly. Unless he’s shagging his secretary.”

Hermione thinks back to their visit. “Wasn’t his secretary a man?”

Draco shrugs. 

At last it’s time for the ribbon cutting. They stand amidst the crowd and watch as an elderly wizard yammers on about generosity and repairing old wounds, thanking the Malfoy family for their donation. He uses a pair of ceremonial scissors to do the deed. 

No sooner is it done than Draco turns to her. “Can we go now?”

He’s brooding like a petulant child, but she finds herself sympathizing—not wanting to be there any longer herself. She nods and loops her arm through his, and he apparates them back to the Manor. He walks away from her without a word, but as she leaves she feels a little twinge in her chest.  _ I’ll have to keep an eye on that, _ she thinks with a grimace.

* * *

It is with minor trepidation that Hermione elects to leave Draco to his own devices so she can go to Ron’s open mic night. Harry had broken the news to her by owl, telling her how happy Ron would be if she was there to support him. 

She asks Wilt to prepare a hearty meal for Draco before she goes, and proceeds to deliver him a long lecture. 

“...I’ve charmed your plate so I’ll know if you don’t eat at least half of it. And don’t think for a  _ minute _ about going out to get high. I have a number of other charms in place, and if you break any of them, you won’t get away with it.” 

She didn’t, actually, but he didn’t need to know that.

He smirks. “You’re diabolical, Granger. I rather like this side of you.”

She puts her hands on her hips, exasperated. “Just try to behave, will you? No blowing anything up or drinking yourself into a stupor while I’m gone?”

“If you’re that concerned, you could just spend the night.” He waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

She huffs. “Goodbye, Malfoy.”

At the bar, Hermione scoots in next to Ginny. Harry is sitting on a stool at the end of the table so he can see the stage. “So do you lot know what this is about?” she asks.

Ginny shakes her head. “He wouldn’t tell us a thing except that he wanted us to be here. I, for one, am excited to watch him fall on his arse.”

“Gin,” Harry admonishes. “I thought we were trying to be supportive.”

“Right, right.” She waves him off and takes a swig of butterbeer.

A squat little wizard who looks like he could be half goblin ambles up to the mic. “Welcome to Decanter Berry’s open mic night. Our first performer is Henrietta Smalley.”

A beautiful witch with bright teal hair takes the stage and recites a lengthy but moving poem. Then they sit through someone’s offkey rendition of a Celestina Warbeck hit, and some truly dreadful standup from a wizard with an impressive beard.

The MC steps up again and says, “Next up is Ron Weasley.”

Harry, Ginny, and Hermione all cheer, despite not knowing what he’s about to do. To her great shock, Ron walks out with a guitar strapped around his torso. He’s wearing Muggle jeans, trainers, and a striped jumper that actually suits him. 

“Good evening, everybody. One of my best friends put me onto Muggle music”—he grins at Hermione, and Harry and Ginny whoop as she blushes—“and if you ask me, it’s a shame we don’t hear more of it in the wizarding world. This is a cover of a Muggle song.”

He starts playing the slow riff on his guitar and Hermione’s mouth falls open. She looks to Ginny and Harry, who also seem shocked. She recognizes the song from the radio but thinks Ron’s voice is better than the original singer, richer and deeper. He sings the refrain, “She will be loved,” and with the way his voice cracks, and the way his eyes keep flickering to the back, she gets the distinct impression he’s singing  _ to _ someone. She turns around, looking through the crowd.

Then, just as Ron’s song ends and the entire pub roars with applause, she sees someone with dark hair slip out the side door.  _ Could that have been—? No, impossible. _

When he comes down to join them, Hermione is the first to speak. “Ron, that was incredible! I never knew you could sing.”

“I didn’t either until last year. I was feeling pretty aimless and thought, why not try the guitar? Been practicing ever since.”

“Great job, mate,” Harry says as he claps him on the back and pushes over a pint.

“Yeah, that was lovely,” Ginny adds.

Ron smiles wide as he downs half the pint in one go. “Was bloody nerve wracking though.”

“I’ll bet,” Hermione says.

They order another round and Hermione laughs like she hasn’t in awhile. She’s truly happy for Ron, that he’s found something he’s so talented at. Something that’s just his. It’s only later, when she’s feeling slightly buzzed, that she thinks about Draco and wonders what he’s doing. 

Sighing, she stares into her nearly-empty mug. Every time she has thought he’s made progress over the last several weeks, he’s quickly dashed her hopes. It’s true that they’ve become more understanding of each other, but when it comes to the outcomes she was actually hired to help him accomplish, he seems as far as ever. 

She’s not sure how else to get him in line without overstepping or giving him ideas. He’s already too flirty for comfort. She knows it’s just his nature, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t affecting her. The way he’d looked at her the other night—it was almost like he’d forgotten their entire history. Like he actually wanted her, as Theo had claimed. Preposterous.

“You okay, Hermione?” She finds Harry’s eyes fixed on her as she’s pulled from her thoughts.

“Yeah, just—job stress.”

“I can’t imagine. You deserve another drink for having to work with Malfoy.”

She nods and lets Harry buy her another.

* * *

When Hermione arrives at the Manor the next day, Lucius is waiting in the foyer for her. “Miss Granger. We need to talk.”

_ Oh no.  _ Suddenly her shoes feel full of lead. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”

He leads her down the long hall to his study and gestures for her to sit. She follows him meekly, biting her lip along the way. 

“Was I not clear in my instructions?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are almost ferocious.

“Yes, you were. Did something happen?”

He gives her a pointed glare that makes her shiver, even though she is uncomfortably warm, having not taken her coat off yet. “I came home last night to find my son passed out drunk in the library.”

“Oh.” Thank Merlin it wasn’t something worse. She fiddles with the tie on her coat as she tries to formulate an answer. “He was fine when I left. I gave him strict instructions—”

“I think,” Lucius begins, stroking his clean shaven chin. “That is the problem. He may be cooperative under your supervision, but once you leave, he is left to his own devices again.”

‘Cooperative’ is pushing it, but she lets that slide. “What would you suggest, then?”

“I would think it rather obvious. You should move into the Manor.”

Hermione’s eyes pop out of her head. “You can’t be serious—” 

“I think the sum I’m paying you is very serious indeed, Miss Granger. Perhaps you’d prefer I find someone else more suited for the job?” He leans back in his chair, eyes locked on hers.

“No, that won’t be—” She takes a deep breath. “My apologies, Mr. Malfoy.” She needs this job. Sweat pools on her lower back, and she really wishes she’d taken off her coat. “It’s just… what about my cat?”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you can bring it. We’ll assign a house elf to its care.”

She doesn’t much like that, and she doesn’t think Crooks will either. But she’s in no position to be setting the terms. And he does have a point, if she does hope to finish this job successfully. Being present full-time will allow her to make sure Draco stays on the bandwagon. She sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat. “I guess I’ll need to pack then.”

Lucius waves her off. “No need. Wilt?”

The house elf appears with a crack. “Master Lucius?”

“Please go to Miss Granger’s residence and fetch her things, as well as her cat. You can move her into the rooms down the hall from Draco.”

“Yes, Master.” Wilt disapparates at once.

“That was unnecessary,” Hermione says, before she can stop herself. “I could have fetched them myself. I won’t need to bring everything.” 

Lucius looks up from his desk as if surprised to see that she's still there. “You’re dismissed, Miss Granger.”

Grumbling, Hermione makes her way up the grand staircase to Draco’s wing. She watches as the house elves magically summon everything from her small flat into two adjoining rooms—there’s the large guest bedroom with the closet full of women’s clothing, as well as a connecting sitting room with a fireplace. Her books line the walls. And there in the middle of the plush bed is Crookshanks, looking quite grumpy indeed.

“I’m sorry, Crooks. It’s just temporary.”

“What in the bloody hell is this?” Both of them jump to look at Draco in the doorway. He’s in his robe, looking equally shocked and incensed.

She almost goes to him, but thinks the better of it. “Your father thought it best if I—move in for the time being.”

“What, so you can  _ nanny _ me twenty-four seven?”

Hermione winces at the hurt in his tone, but says nothing. What  _ could  _ she say? 

“Excuse me, but I need to go have a word with my father.”

Draco is gone for only ten minutes before he storms back through the hall, past Hermione’s open door, and slams his own. She debates whether to go check on him or not, her heart telling her he needs to be left alone—but eventually her logic gets the best of her, and she pads over to his room—across the hall and two doors down. Much too close for comfort.

“Draco?” she calls as she knocks.

She hears a muffled, “Go away, Granger!” 

“Do you really want me to go away?” She pauses, biting her lip. “You’ll have to talk to me eventually.”

The door clicks open, and she wonders at how well he uses wandless magic. He’s lying face down on the bed, and she approaches cautiously. “How does it feel?” he mumbles.

“What?” She gingerly sits down on the bed and contemplates her life choices before slowly resting her hand on his back and patting him a few times.

He turns his head on the pillow so he can see her, and the rawness in his eyes tugs painfully at her gut. “How does it feel seeing me so down and out that not even my own father wants anything to do with me?”

She swallows. “I’m sure that’s not—”

“He had you move in so he doesn’t even have to care on the evenings or weekends. Don’t you see that? He’s paying  _ you _ for that now.”

_ Shite. _ “Draco, it’s not like that.”

“You can stop sugarcoating, Granger. You know it is.” He whips up out of the bed, leaving her hand to flop to the mattress as he goes to his balcony and lights up.

Hermione sighs and leaves the room. What has she gotten herself into?

* * *

Somehow, she makes it through another week. Living at the Manor is strange, to say the least. But at least Crookshanks seems to have settled into a rhythm, and now enjoys being pampered by his assigned house elf, Pippy. She came in her room the other day to the two of them playing with a ball of yarn.

Draco has been sullen all week, begrudgingly cooperating with her, but sleeping far more than usual. At least he’s put a few pounds on. She’s hesitant to tell him to his face that she’s worried, but concern for his well being is now apparently something she’s constantly burdened with.

It’s Friday and very late when Hermione finally calls it a day. She has gotten into the habit of checking Draco’s entire wing for contraband before she retires to her room. He’s still far sneakier and more devious than she is, and she knows he often manages to slip something past her, but she’s still been able to confiscate a few odd vials this way. And the longer she’s stayed there, the better she’s gotten at finding his hiding places and concealment spells. 

He had been at a party at Blaise’s tonight, and just made it home before curfew. She really shouldn’t have let him attend, but it was Zabini’s birthday, and since he’d been such a sad-sack all week, she took pity on him. Something about the intensity in his grey eyes won her over. She needs to work on building up an immunity to his persuasiveness.

She’s on her last room of her routine search for his vials—his study—and has just turned the lights off and exited into the hallway when she realizes she left her cardigan draped over the chair. She retreats into the darkened room to retrieve it. Suddenly the air shifts, and she realizes she isn’t alone. She turns her head to see Draco materialize in the door frame. 

“Granger?” he asks sleepily. “Thought you went to bed.”

“I was just about to.” She grabs her jumper and turns back to leave, only he won’t move from the doorway. “Excuse me,” she murmurs, the look in his eyes stealing the volume from her voice.

_ “Espèce de sorcière arrogante. Pourquoi es-tu ici?” _

He knows her French is mediocre at best. “What?” 

Draco doesn’t say anything, and just continues to stare at her until—

It happens so swiftly it knocks the air out of her lungs. He grabs her shoulders and spins them around so he can pin her against the wall next to the door. The jumper falls from her hand as his lips crash against hers like waves on the shore—sloppily, violently. She’s dizzy for air, and she doesn’t have time to protest or think ast her body begins to reacts without her permission, opening to him as he slides his tongue inside her mouth, kissing him back—

His hand skirts down her side and digs into her hip, and finally,  _ finally,  _ her senses return. She pushes him back, reeling in horror. “You’re drunk,” she gasps, tasting the firewhisky on her tongue.

“And you’re sexy,  _ ma belle, _ ” he says, leaning his head back down.

“No!” she shoves him hard, tears pricking at her eyes. “I have a—a job to do. And you can’t just  _ do _ this. I’m not one of  _ them. _ ” She frees herself from his grasp and flees the room, her heart pounding. She doubts he’ll even remember this in the morning, but she’ll never forgive herself for giving in like this. Worse yet, now she can’t forget—she knows what his lips feel like.

And how much she wants to feel them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback on the previous two chapters! I have been trying to answer comments, but I've also been updating a lot lately (between Dramione and Reylo) so forgive me if I'm a bit behind. Much gratitude to my beta, raven_maiden!
> 
> French translation(thanks to reylolujah for the help): _Espèce de sorcière arrogante. Pourquoi es-tu ici?_ translates to _You annoying witch. Why are you here?_ and _ma belle_ means _my beauty/iful_.
> 
> Next update will be March 8th.


	4. Miss Britannica and The Heartbreak Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! It was a crazy weekend for raven_maiden and myself. Please note the updated tags! Next update barring any unforeseen circumstances should be March 22.

“You’re _living_ at Malfoy Manor now?” Ron’s jaw drops.

“Yes. Only temporarily. Until the job is over.” Hermione swirls the dregs of her butterbeer around in her glass. 

She managed to convince Lucius to give her one night off to spend with her friends, but knowing she’ll be going back to the Manor after this makes her not want to drink as much. She doesn't want to lose control. Not that other residents of Malfoy Manor feel accountable for the way they behave while drunk. As predicted, the morning after Draco kissed her, he acted like nothing ever happened. 

It is infuriating. Especially over the last few days, when she has accidentally glanced at his mouth and felt her lips tingle with the phantom memory of his kiss. He was— _is_ an incredible kisser. She only has a handful of people to compare it to, but certainly no one has ever kissed her the way Draco Malfoy did. And to know that he’s probably kissed dozens of girls the same way—even worse, that he doesn’t even _remember_ kissing her? Well, it’s a blow to her ego, to put it mildly.

“Earth to Hermione!” Harry is snapping his fingers in her face.

Ginny is away with the Harpies, so it’s just the Golden Trio tonight, together again. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“I don’t like what this job is doing to you, ‘Mione. I honestly feel bad for encouraging you to take it.” Ron looks so sincere, and it makes her remember why they’re friends in the first place. He is always ready to fight on her behalf.

“No, it’s fine. I really am concerned for Draco. He’s not in a good place.”

“Oh it’s ‘Draco’ now, is it?” Harry smirks.

Hermione rolls her eyes, electing not to answer. “He’s not as awful as he was in school. Well, he’s worse in some ways, but better in others. I think all the partying is a coping mechanism.”

“Of course it is, but that’s not your problem,” Ron says. She takes note of how mature he’s being—such a turnaround from even a year ago. Maybe he _is_ seeing someone.

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Lucius is paying me for it to be my problem so he doesn’t have to deal with it. It’s just all rather—”

“Fucked up,” Harry finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

They all frown into their respective drinks for a long moment. The war was hard on everyone, but it’s difficult to drum up sympathy for someone who chose the wrong side. Or at least it was—until now. For her, anyway. 

Thankfully, Ron changes the subject. “I have some news.”

“Oh really?” Hermione brightens.

“I booked my first gig!”

“Ron, that’s wonderful!” Hermione grabs his hand and gives a gentle squeeze.

“Well done, mate!” Harry reaches over the table to slap him on the back.

“It’s pretty barmy, right? Who would’ve thought—me, a singer.”

“Certainly not me,” Harry says with a wink.

Hermione apparates back to the Manor after only two butterbeers, unable to shake the thought that Malfoy could be doing serious damage to himself in her absence. Why must she care so much about the bloody idiot suddenly? _You know why,_ a voice inside answers.

Shortly after she moved in, they were forced to update the wards so she could apparate within the Manor. The paintings had a field day with that, but the next day all of the ones on Draco’s wing had little curtains hanging over them. _Curious,_ she had thought. 

She hasn’t done much exploring besides Draco’s wing. Keeping watch over him takes up enough of her time as it is. The house is quiet, though, so she creeps along the hall on the first floor, just wandering. She can apparate to her room now, after all. She comes along an area that feels familiar and at once experiences a sense of foreboding. The double doors, is it—?

Without thinking, she opens them and reveals a room that maybe once was familiar but isn’t anymore. The room is pristine—like no one ever comes in here. It has been decorated in shades of cream and white, almost blinding, with overhead built-in lighting where Hermione swears there used to be a chandelier. Despite the light interior, a dark sense of foreboding weighs on her. This is it. This is the room where she was tortured. She would never have known if she hadn’t recognized its placement in the building.

Wilt is beside her immediately. “Miss Granger?” 

“Wilt.” She swallows thickly, “What is this room?”

“No one is using this room anymore. Bad things happened here.”

That, she knows. “But why does it look so different—from before?”

She looks down at him and Wilt looks guilty, his ears drooping ever so slightly. “Master Draco burned the whole room down.”

“He _what?_ When?”

“It was many years ago. While Master Lucius was still away.”

She’s guessing ‘away’ refers to his short stint in Azkaban, while the Ministry was still deciding what to do with the Malfoys. “Was he drunk?”

Wilt shrugs. “Master Draco was being very angry and destroyed many things. Wilt was very worried for Master’s safety.” 

“Thank you, Wilt.”

He bows and disapparates with a crack, leaving Hermione to stare at the room. She closes the doors quickly and walks away, deep in thought. Perhaps something horrible happened in that room that deeply affected him. That would make two of them, anyway. She goes off in search of him, apparating to the hall of his wing— _their_ wing now, though she can’t let herself think of it that way. She hears muffled noises and rushes to his door, noticing it’s cracked. He is asleep, but must be having a nightmare, as he’s thrashing around on the bed moaning phrases. Her mouth falls open, and she steps swiftly inside before she can think. He’s pale and clammy, sweat making his hair damp. “No... I can’t do it... Please don’t.”

She creeps closer to his bed, heart pounding, torn about whether she should intervene. He’ll be furious if he wakes and finds her there, but she can’t just leave him like this. He tosses again, the sheet coming down to reveal his bare chest, and she swallows. Fine, let him be angry, but she can’t stand to see him like this.

“Don’t hurt her!” he pleads just as she cautiously perches on the bed.

“Draco,” she says urgently, placing her hand on his shoulder.

He wakes up with a jolt, instinctively grabbing her arm as Hermione squeaks. His eyes are unseeing but wide with fear, and he reaches for his wand with the other hand before he notices her. “Granger?” he finally asks. 

“It’s me. I’m here.”

“You’re okay,” he breathes, pulling her to himself as he sits up. He holds her for a moment, Hermione going rigid as she tries to process what’s happening.

He seems to realize what he’s done, though, and pulls back ever so slightly to look at her. His gaze is intense, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart to her lips, his mouth parting a little. Her heart is racing as she stares back, wondering what he’ll do next—what she _wants_ him to do. They are so close, he’s practically breathing into her mouth.

“What are you doing in my room?” he says at last, breaking the spell.

She blinks, then clears her throat, deciding to let it go. She would be assuming a lot, after all. 

“I heard noises, sounded like you were in distress. Do you often have nightmares?”

“How did you know they were noises of distress? You could’ve interrupted an intimate moment.” The attitude is back. She scowls, taking it as her cue to leave, and rises from the bed.

“Please. I _do_ know the difference.”

“Do you?” He smirks.

“I’ll just leave you be, then.” She spins on her heel, lest he see the flush that’s rising to her face. 

“Stay out of my room, Granger.” The words have surprisingly little bite to them, and as she slams the door, she wonders if maybe—just maybe—he appreciates her coming to check on him. Merlin knows no one else does.

She makes the short trek to her room and settles in. As Crooks settles at her feet on the bed, Hermione sighs and thinks about how Draco seemed sober, at least. Maybe they are making some progress.

* * *

He’s _definitely_ back to his prickish, insufferable self the next morning. 

“You know, Granger. Anytime you want to see me naked, you can just ask. You don’t have to creep into my room at night.”

“Gross, Malfoy. I haven’t even finished my tea.” She’s having a scone as well this morning because she isn’t feeling like there’s a thousand things running through her mind for once, and she actually woke up hungry.

Draco, for his part, is good-naturedly buttering his toast, wearing his least ostentatious robe. “Standing offer.” He gives her a roguish grin. It almost feels friendly, which is new. She distracts herself by taking a large sip of tea. “So what kind of fresh hell is planned for us today?”

“Let’s see,” Hermione starts, looking over the scroll. “Apparently your mother is throwing some kind of benefit this weekend and needs us to attend a cake tasting on her behalf.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “God forbid she let a spoonful of sugar past her lips.”

“Well, more for us, I suppose.” He shrugs in agreement. “And then—you need a haircut?” She looks at him, analyzing. His hair is only just past his collar, but it doesn’t look bad. 

“Well I can’t woo all the pure-blood heiresses looking like a commoner, now can I?”

She sighs and tries to imagine him a little roughed up around the edges. It’s hard to picture, but not altogether unpleasant. “Guess not.”

* * *

His good mood doesn’t last all day, though. He pouts all through the cake tasting, forcing Hermione to be the one to finally decide on the lemon buttercream over the white chocolate raspberry ganache. She is professional and courteous with all their social engagements of the day though she knows it doesn’t make up for his glowering. In the late afternoon, she finally shuffles him to an upscale barber in Diagon Alley to get his haircut.

“Maybe some pampering will snap you out of this mood,” she mutters as she walks him inside. “You’re grumpier than Crooks is after being ignored all day.”

“Please don’t compare me to your hideous cat, Granger.”

“If the shoe fits.” She smiles sweetly. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Hermione has just settled in for some tea across the street when an owl she’s never seen before lands on her table. She snatchesthe letter, her mouth dry, and reads it at once. It’s from the mind healer, Dr. Albert Winthrop, whom she had contacted regarding her parents. He agrees to meet with them in Australia but it has to be next weekend, as he has a conference coming up. Her relief mixes with anxiety, adrenaline pumping through her veins, until—

She groans as she realizes she’ll have to ask Lucius for more time off. She tucks the letter away, pays for her tea, and goes back to check on Draco.

When she arrives, she isn’t prepared for just how much a simple trim can change someone’s appearance. He looks sharp. Her eyes rake over him for several long moments before he realizes she’s there. She expects him to make a snarky comment about her appreciating the view, but something in him seems to deflate when their eyes meet. He just looks sad.

She frowns, searching his face. It’s almost pitiful how easily he descends into melancholia these days. At least before, when she just saw him in the papers, he _appeared_ to be having fun, even if it was an elaborate ruse. “What’s wrong, Draco? You don’t like it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Granger. I look amazing, as always.”

She rolls her eyes to the heavens and lets out the biggest sigh. “Let’s go.”

They leave and start walking to the apparition point, but she can tell something is still bothering him. She stops and touches his arm. “What’s the problem? You can tell me.”

He looks for a moment like he’s considering what to say, but suddenly hardens. “Nothing.” He pulls his arm away and takes a step backward. “Carry on, Granger. Your ward awaits his orders.” 

She scowls and closes the space between them. “Stop acting like a child, and I’ll stop treating you like one. You’re clearly in a mood, and I can’t help you if you don’t tell me _why._ ”

“There’s nothing you can do. Except stop existing, possibly—” 

“We’re not leaving until you cut the bullshit, Malfoy,” she says, tapping her foot. “I’ve got all day.” 

He stares lazily at her eyes, then her lips. She barely has a second to blink back up at him when it suddenly comes exploding forth. “It’s _you_ , Granger! I have to be around you all the time now, and you just make me feel so—so—inferior!”

Hermione’s mouth falls open, and she takes a step back. She couldn’t be more shocked if he had slapped her. “ _I_ make _you_ feel inferior? That’s rich. How so?”

He looks at her as if she’s grown a third eye, and his lip curls. “Do you really not know? You’ve got it all together. Literally every person you meet worships at your feet. You’re the Golden Girl, war hero, Hermione Granger. Always top of her class, succeeds in everything, not to mention fit—”

She starts talking over him. “In case you forgot, _Malfoy,_ the entire reason your father offered me this position is because I was terminated from employment at the Ministry. For disobeying direct orders and getting an Auror injured, by the way, not that you would—” her cheeks flush, and she breaks off. “Wait, did you just call me ‘fit’?” His throat bobs, and her stomach flips. She suddenly wishes she were anywhere else.

“No, you must’ve misheard me.” He crosses his arms. “So you’ve had one cock up. But you’re Ms. Bloody Perfect for all other intents and purposes, and a year from now you’ll be saving the bloody pixies with all the money you earned from nannying Draco Malfoy—”

“ _Perfect_ ?” Hermione lets out a hysterical laugh. “Of course you’d think that, because neither you nor anyone else bothers to _ask_ how I’m actually doing! Far from it, actually. I’m tightly wound, I’m always stressed, and I only took this damn job because I ruined my budding Ministry career and now I have no clue what to do with my life!” She throws her hands up in the air, exasperated.

Draco goes quiet for a moment, his grey eyes burning with intensity. He swallows again. “So you’re as fucked up as I am, then?”

She stares at him incredulously as the silence stretches. Her stomach shakes for several moments before she realizes she’s laughing. 

He laughs, too. And not the pompous chuckle he normally reserves for her presence, but a full bodied genuine laugh.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” she manages. Something bubbles up inside her that feels a lot like affection, and she tries to rein it in quickly. _Thoroughly disturbing._

He sucks in a calming breath and fixes her with a gaze she can’t quite read. “You know, Granger. You make it really hard to hate you sometimes.”

“Well, back at you.” She finds herself smiling, and when she looks up at him, he’s smiling, too.

“Shall we?” he asks, proffering his arm for her to take.

He apparates them to the Manor, where Wilt already has dinner prepared. They are just finishing up what has been a rather pleasant meal, when Theo appears. 

“Evening, Granger.” He winks at her and looks back and forth between Draco and Hermione. “Am I interrupting some kind of breakthrough here? You both look happy.”

“No, it was just a good day,” Hermione offers. _Though I feel like you’re about to ruin it._

“Draco?” he questions, nodding his head. She swears over half their conversations are nonverbal. Is it just a result of being friends for so long?

Draco looks to her. “May I be excused?”

He knows it riles her up when he treats her like a governess. Her lips form a thin line. “Go on, then.”

“Thanks, Mummy,” Theo teases and kisses her cheek. Draco frowns at the action but says nothing as they leave the room.

* * *

“Absolutely not,” Lucius states, the look of disdain on his features now becoming familiar to Hermione.

“Mr. Malfoy, with all due respect, it would be one evening—if that—that I’d be gone. I’ve already applied for the international portkey. Dr. Winthrop thinks he might be able to assist in retrieving my parent’s memories.”

“International travel is no trivial matter, Miss Granger. What if you become stranded and we are left without your services?”

“If you haven’t seemed to notice, Draco has been doing somewhat better lately, and I’d like to think that’s due to my influence. I don’t ask for much. Please,” she practically begs, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“Surely I can handle myself for one night, Father,” Draco drawls as he strides into the study.

Lucius considers him for a moment and Hermione breathes a sigh of relief that Draco has come to back her up. “I suppose… you have been cleaning up your reputation. I did rather enjoy that piece Ms. Skeeter published on your new and improved image.”

Ah yes, Hermione had gently coerced her into writing that. She smiles at Draco in thanks.

“Fine,” Lucius allows. “But only one night, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, sir.” She doesn’t dawdle, leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Draco is hot on her heels. He catches up to her quickly, his much longer strides making it easy. “What happened to your parents, Granger?”

“Nothing. It’s none of your concern.” She keeps walking, and he chases after her, grasping her sleeve.

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily. I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I do have ears… and a heart.”

She suppresses a groan and reluctantly turns to face him, shaking her arm loose from his grip on her clothing. It’s still hard to talk about, but he’ll probably find out sooner or later. Might as well be from her. “I obliviated them. To protect them during the war. They have no memory of me or magic and are living in Australia.”

He reaches out and stops her from walking, turning her to face him. “You _what?_ ”

“Well, I couldn’t have Voldemort killing them, now could I? If they knew what I was facing, there’s no way they would have left.” She crosses her arms and tries not to cry. But the tears are right there—they always are when it comes to her parents. She hasn’t seen them in eight years.

“Christ,” Draco whispers. He takes a step closer, and she takes a step backward, squeezing her ribs. 

This is too personal—too raw. She can’t let him see her like this.

“Come here.” He wraps his arms around her and draws her in.

After a half-hearted attempt to shove him, Hermione lowers her arms, letting them dangle loosely at her sides. Grief bubbles in her throat as he holds her tighter, and before she can stop herself she’s wrapping her arms around him and returning his embrace, letting the tears fall as she buries her head in the crook of his neck. His smell is spicy and rich, the scent safe and steadying and somehow _familiar_. She thinks she could get used to this as he runs his hands up and down her back, soothing her as her body shakes. It’s been so long since someone’s just held her like this.

His lips brush her ear, and he whispers, “So just as fucked up as me, then.”

She sniffs and starts to laugh, despite herself. “Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

“Let me go with you,” he blurts during breakfast. His eyes are overwhelmingly earnest as he stirs his coffee.

Hermione blanches. “Draco, no. That won't be necessary. Listen, I appreciate you comforting me last night—but it was inappropriate of me to let that happen.”

He looks crestfallen for a moment but recovers quickly, clearing his throat. “Inappropriate?”

“Yes. Our relationship is professional, first and foremost.” She feels embarrassed that he saw her in such a state, let alone that she let him hold her for so long.

Draco's eyes turn to ice. “I see. Well, I won't make the same mistake of interfering with our _professional_ relationship the next time you're blubbering.”

Hermione's cheeks flush. She can't let him take this the wrong way. “Of course I care about you as a person, Draco. You have to know that by now.” He stares at her intensely, and she swallows, her throat suddenly dry. “But we have to remember why I'm here.”

“Like my father would ever let me forget,” he sneers.

“Bringing my personal matters into our relationship is a distraction.” She pauses. “Speaking of, we haven't made any progress on finding you—”

“A broodmare.”

“A potential wife,” she corrects him.

His gaze darkens even further. “Got it handled, Granger. Enjoy yourself in Australia.” He rises from the table and leaves her, his breakfast uneaten. Hermione frowns, an insistent nagging in her stomach that despite her best intentions, she hadn't done the right thing.

She meets Dr. Winthrop in the Atrium, shaking his hand vigorously before they go to retrieve the international portkey. He is a tall, older wizard with raven hair that is shot through with grey at the temples. He wears horn-rimmed glasses and has kind amber eyes.

“I’m cautiously optimistic regarding your parents’ memories,” he says once they’re through Australian security. “We’ll do the preliminary meeting, then I’ll stay behind and work with them for a week before I leave for my conference. I’ll keep you updated throughout the process.”

“Thank you, Dr. Winthrop. I really appreciate this.” Hermione knows he’s curious to study her parents, but he’s also charging her much less than he probably should. A benefit of being a war hero, she supposes.

Hermione has been to Australia a couple times to check on Monica and Wendell Wilkins, though she’s never been able to bring herself to meet them face to face. She takes a deep breath as Dr. Winthrop knocks on the door.

When her mother greets them, Hermione nearly loses her breath. Both her parents have aged gracefully, looking barely older than when she last saw them. Her mum’s green eyes seem to flicker with recognition as she brings them tea. “Have we met before, dear?” You remind me of someone, though I can’t put my finger on it.”

Hermione freezes, her eyes starting to fill with moisture. Her mother’s face is so earnest, and she hadn’t been expecting this wave of sorrow that’s crashing over her now. She turns and fishes a tissue out of her bag and discreetly tries to wipe her eyes. “Sorry, my allergies are acting up.”

Monica reiterates her question. “So have we—met?”

Hermione looks to Dr. Winthrop with wide eyes and he shakes his head slightly. It’s too risky at this stage. She forces a smile. “I don’t believe so,” she says.

The first meeting goes extremely well according to Dr. Winthrop, and Hermione is filled with hope—a feeling she hasn’t experienced for her parents in quite some time. She races to the Australian Ministry, holding onto his promise that he’d do everything he can.

When at last she apparates back to the Manor, there is loud music coming from the lower ballroom. _That bastard is having a party!_ She fumes, stomping all the way there and seeing witches and wizards grinding to the music, knocking back drinks as well as potions, and some caught up in various incriminating activities.

Draco is nowhere to be seen.

She holds her wand to her wand up to her throat and amplifies her voice, bellowing, “PARTY’S OVER. EVERYBODY OUT!”

Most of the guests flee, save for Theo who takes his time. “I thought you were gone tonight.”

“Yes, well, thank heavens I was able to come back early. Where are Lucius and Narcissa?”

Theo smirks. “In France for the weekend.”

Of all the irresponsible things—they knew she’d be out for a night, and they couldn’t have stayed around to occupy their son for one evening? Hermione presently didn’t know whom she was most angry with. “And Draco?”

Theo shrugs. “Around, somewhere.”

“Ever so helpful, Nott. Now fuck off, would you?” She feels her temple throbbing. Just when they’d been making progress...

“Ooh! I love it when you’re feisty, Granger.” He winks on his way to the fireplace.

Hermione huffs and goes off in search of Draco, chomping at the bit to give him a piece of her mind. He was so kind and understanding the other day, using his charms to get his father to agree to her time off. Then this is what he does in her absence?

Unbelievable.

She cases the entire bottom floor, finding nothing. Then she makes her way up to the second, to his wing. She takes her time checking each room, her anger slowly dissipating into concern. Where is he? Did he take something and pass out somewhere? 

Clearly, Draco can’t be trusted. She’s feeling whatever the wizarding equivalent of jet lagged is, and now she’s also mentally and emotionally worn out. She hates leaving the mess for the elves, but they’re used to it—and she’s much too exhausted to do it herself.

Then she hears what sounds like moaning from a doorway down the hall. Just great. All she needs is a partier who’s overdosed on whatever potion Malfoy’s been passing out. She keeps her wand out, ready for anything, as she silently pads to the door, a small shaft of light shining out onto the hardwood floor.

Hermione gasps when she peers inside and sees what’s causing the noise. An elegant blonde witch with a long ponytail is completely nude and sprawled out on a sofa. Kneeling on the floor, with one of her legs over his shoulder is Draco. She watches him look up at the girl and wink before returning his tongue to her cunt.

She covers her mouth with her hand as she steps back into the shadows and presses herself against the wall beside the room. She is too paralyzed to move. Too afraid to make a noise and be discovered. Here she was concerned for Draco’s safety, but he is apparently just fine. Her anger returns and bleeds into jealousy. She tries to shake off the feeling, but something inside growls with possessiveness.

Heat floods her body as she realizes she can still _hear_ them. She imagines the blonde running her perfectly manicured fingers through Malfoy’s hair. She can’t shake the look on his face as he ate her out. It’s clear he knows what he’s doing by the noises the girl is making. Hermione’s clit pulses with desire. 

It’s been so long since she’s done anything sexual—and she and Ron never actually went all the way. He tried cunnilingus once or twice, but he wasn’t very good at it, and she found it hard to orgasm. Instead they found an easy rhythm where she’d blow him and he’d finger her. They both got to come and were usually done in under twenty minutes. Hermione hadn’t been ready for penetration yet... and then they broke up.

She gulps, shame suffusing her body. Somewhere deep inside, her conscience tries to talk her out of what she’s about to do. But she’s stuck in this limbo between hiding in the shadows and running for safety. The sounds from the room become more frenzied, and she hears Draco murmure, “You like that?” He chuckles before falling silent again, the girl’s moans response enough.

She wants to hate him for it. Wants to barge in and stop this and send this tart home crying. The woman’s noises increase in volume, and Hermione guesses she must be close to climax. Feeling out of control, she hastily unbuttons her trousers and slips her hand into her knickers.

Jesus, she’s soaked. She wastes no time, stroking her clit hard in a steady rhythm that’s sure to get her there quickly, especially thinking about Malfoy’s surely expert mouth. She thinks about the way his lips might feel on her body—if she were to allow him to touch her again. Somewhere inside it burns just a bit that the same mouth he kissed her with is the one he’s using on this _stranger._ This nobody. The blonde girl suddenly wails her release and the sound sends Hermione over the edge as well, feeling herself clench around nothing.

“Fuck,” she mutters as the weight of what she’s just done crashes over her. She takes off running down the corridor.

She’s only a few steps away when she hears footsteps behind her. “Granger? I know that’s you!”

She’s about to turn a corner when his hand shoots out and grabs her arm. “Let me go, Malfoy.”

“Not so fast, you little pervert. Spying on me, were you?” He arches an eyebrow.

She tries to ignore the fact that he is only wearing trousers and is rather erect beneath them. “I—I was just making sure everyone was _alive._ I didn’t realize you were going to throw a rager while I was gone.”

He has the audacity to lift his chin. “Right. Well, I wasn’t expecting you back till tomorrow.” He still has her arm in his grasp—her right arm. His eyes travel down to her fingers and she hopes to hell he doesn’t notice that they’re still wet with her juices. “What do we have here?”

“Please don’t—” she starts, but he has already brought her fingers to his lips.

“I knew there was a bit of a freak hiding somewhere in that uptight little body.” He smirks and then opens his mouth, sucking her first two fingers into his mouth. “Mmm,” he hums around them, shutting his eyes like he’s savoring the flavor before withdrawing them slowly. 

She doesn’t want to think about the things this is doing to her—certainly isn’t thinking about the increasing wetness between her thighs or him pressing her up against the wall and having his way with her. Instead, she takes a staggering breath. “Draco?”

He releases her arm and opens his eyes. “ _Délicieuse._ You taste better.” Then he turns and walks back the way he came.

Hermione stands still for several minutes, her heart beating fast. Then she apparates back to her room. Her head is reeling as she paces in front of the fireplace. Crooks shoots her a wary look. _What a stupid mistake!_ He’ll never let her live this down. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she mutters as she tears off her clothes and grabs her nightgown.

She thought she had her attraction under control. She’s been trying so hard to keep him at arm’s length, despite the progress she thought they’d been making. Frowning, she dejectedly crawls into bed and pulls out her vibrator from her nightstand. She casts a _Muffliato_ and gets herself off two more times before passing out. It’s no use pretending she isn’t thinking about Draco when she does it—his stormy eyes, full mouth, and platinum hair are all she sees when she comes.


	5. Why Do I Feel This Party's Over?

Hermione rolls over in bed and stares at the clock. Draco will surely be asleep for at least another hour or two. Maybe she can sneak into his room and obliviate him while he sleeps…

No, she knows that’s not an option. It would be a violation much greater than anything that happened last night. She still can barely think about that spell without having a panic attack. As uncomfortable as it all was, she knows one thing for sure—he’s definitely attracted to her. He wouldn’t have done what he did otherwise. Not that any of it matters. A fresh wave of shame washes over her as she remembers exactly what she did. 

Everything she worked so hard to deny, her carefully constructed walls came crashing down in the span of seconds—all because she couldn’t keep it in her pants. She’s never acted this depraved for anyone else before. She shudders again thinking about the truly sinful way he sucked on her fingers, as if he enjoyed every second of it. She wonders if he went back and shagged the other girl. She tries to tell herself she doesn’t care either way.

The whole thing is… a mess, to put it mildly. She is being paid to reform him, not develop a crush. He really isn’t a viable potential suitor—even if he were to get clean and turn everything around, he’s still Draco bloody Malfoy. Former Death Eater and enemy of her best friends. Even if Harry and Ron could get past it, Draco’s parents would never approve. So it would be a doomed endeavor, anyway. Which really is unfortunate because ever since he singled her out when they were younger, Hermione’s always had a strange fascination with him. 

When Harry became obsessed with his comings and goings in sixth year, she also studied him. She wanted to know what made him tick, why he hated her so. After Harry told her about that night on the Astronomy Tower, her hypothesis was confirmed: Draco Malfoy was a scared, insecure, coddled rich boy who wanted nothing more than to please his father and keep his family alive. 

But now? Now he is a scared, insecure, damaged rich man with demons that haunt him. He is aloof, intriguing, and a secret part of her thinks he might be just the right amount of ‘bad idea’. Another part of her—likely the Gryffindor part—thinks maybe she can save him. And now she can't forget what his touch feels like, or the feel of his lips on hers. She groans, wondering if agreeing to take this job was a colossal mistake.

Up until now, she has been just muddling through. He has gotten away with far too much, as she let her pity and obvious soft spot for him get in the way of her better judgement. That all ends today. She needs to be firmer with him, to make sure he understands how high the stakes are here. And to focus on the task at hand—finding him a bride. The sooner she accomplishes all this, the sooner she can forget him. Probably.

* * *

She sips her tea as she reads over the agenda for today and browses the  _ Prophet _ . When Draco joins her, she doesn’t look up, even when he says in a sultry tone,  _ “Bonjour, ma belle.” _

Her mouth hardens into a line. “Don’t.” 

He feigns offense. “What, I can’t be charming?”

“Oh I know exactly what you’re doing, Malfoy. And we are never discussing what happened last night. Got it?”

She finally looks up to see him miming locking his mouth with an invisible key. 

“Thank you. Now, it occurs to me that I’ve been too lenient with you. That ends today. No more parties. No more random women over at all times. No more drugs. I really can’t prevent you from drinking, but you will not be drunk in my presence. If you violate any of these rules, I’m done.”

Draco is staring at her, but instead of looking angry, there’s a burning intensity in his eyes she can’t place. “Done?” he questions.

“As in, I quit. And to be quite honest, if you think  _ I’m _ bad, I’d hate to see what your father does in the event that I leave.”

She can see him processing. He dabs his mouth lightly with his napkin. “Fine.”

Her resolve falters, if only for a moment. “Wait, really?” She purses her lips and notices his eyes are drawn to the movement.

His shoulders sag—whether in relief or defeat, she isn’t quite sure. “Yes. I don’t want to see what kind of nightmare my father would impose upon me if you left. I know I haven’t been making things easy on you.”

“I—okay. Well, that’s settled then. Let’s go over the agenda.” Surprisingly he lets her get through the whole thing with nary a sarcastic remark. 

* * *

After Hermione gives Draco a potion of her own creation to make sure there’s no residual drugs or alcohol in his system, she takes him to their first stop. It wasn’t on the agenda, but she’s decided to skirt the Malfoys’ rules a bit and do something that might actually be good for their son’s spirits. Something that might contribute in some meaningful way to his efforts to turn a new page.

“Where are we, Granger?”

“It’s a school for Muggleborn children.” He looks at her, raising a brow. “To help them figure out their magic before they go to Hogwarts.”

His eyes widen as they step inside Ms. Peppertine’s School for Muggleborn Witches and Wizards. There are children of various ages—all ten or under, of course—spread about the classroom. A little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails runs over to him and tugs on his pant leg.

“You’re very handsome,” she gushes, before giggling and running away.

He turns around to Hermione, smiling, and her stomach takes an odd swoop that catches her off guard. “I think I like it here, Granger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Prince Charming.” She grabs him by the arm so she can introduce him to the headmistress.

They spend the better part of the morning meeting all the students and finding out about the curriculum there. The school prepares Muggleborns by teaching them basics about the magical world, and also helps them learn how to reinin their burgeoning powers. It’s quite impressive, but they could do more with adequate funding. 

Unbidden, Draco promises to see what he can do. Ms. Peppertine, a woman in her early thirties with sandy blonde hair, blushes when he kisses her hand before they leave.

Hermione is practically beaming as they make their way to the apparition point. “That went rather well, I think. You were lovely with those children.”

“Well, I’m not a monster, Granger. I do happen to like kids.”

Her mouth parts slightly. “You do?”

He nods. “They understand things better than adults sometimes.”

Something in her chest tightens at his expression. “Would you like it if we went back sometime, then?”

“Yes, I think I would.”

* * *

In the evening, they attend another stuffy charity event where his parents are present. Lucius and Narcissa barely pay them any attention, as usual, content to hob-knob with the important guests instead. Despite the plethora of alcoholic options present, Hermione notices when Draco orders a club soda and sips it slowly as they take a tour of the room. A slow warmth blooms in her chest.  _ He’s trying. _

“You clean up nicely,” he murmurs in her ear. She tries to suppress her shiver. 

“Thank you. My salary has definitely increased the quality of my wardrobe.” She smooths a hand over the form-fitting black satin sheath she’s wearing. 

Hermione knows he can’t stay by her side all night, though. There are plenty of eligible pure-blood girls in attendance, and he looks sober and presentable—much better than presentable, if she’s being honest. He’s wearing something like a tux, all tailored lines complete with a waistcoat and bowtie. His hair is perfectly styled, and for once, the sparkle in his grey eyes can’t be attributed to an illicit substance. 

There’s a group of chatting women near the refreshments, and Hermione recognizes a few of them from her research. She nudges him as they draw closer. “Go mingle. Be charming.”

He stares at her for perhaps a beat too long before acquiescing, putting on his best show-stopping smile as he saunters over. “Good evening, ladies.”

Hermione wanders off in a different direction, trying her best to fade into the background, while still occasionally casting a watchful eye on Draco, just in case. A pang of something resembling jealousy shoots through her veins as she notices Draco talking to a leggy brunette. Her eyes skim the rest of the room, spotting Pansy up against the near wall, in deep conversation with Daphne Greengrass. She is just about to avert her eyes and change direction when Pansy catches her eye—and actually  _ smiles. _

“Nice dress, Granger,” she offers as Hermione passes by.

“Thank you,” she manages without stammering. Has hell frozen over?

Pansy starts to trail after her, so Hermione pauses and turns back to face her. She’s wearing a bright magenta gown that pops against her alabaster skin and black hair. “I just wanted to say, I’ve noticed that Draco has seemed—better since you’ve been around, so keep up… whatever it is you’re doing.”

It takes Hermione a moment to process. “O-kay?”

Pansy studies her for a moment. “I know I haven’t been especially nice to you in the past, but I’m trying this new thing where I’m not a supreme bitch all the time.” Hermione’s mouth falls open, and Pansy snorts at her expression. “Please, Granger. I own it. Or I did, anyway.” 

“Right,” says Hermione slowly, blinking at her. “Well, thanks, then.” 

Pansy waves her off. “That’s all I wanted to say.” Hermione nods and Pansy finally takes her leave, moving through the crowd quickly. Hermione doesn’t have too long to wonder about what had gotten into her, though, as Draco comes over and slides his hand along the small of her back. Hermione jumps. 

“Granger, may we please get out of here?” His voice is husky, and she tries to ignore the way it generates heat low in her abdomen. Perhaps she drank too much champagne. 

“Why?” 

His eyes are dark and pleading. “I’m trying to behave myself, but there’s too much temptation. I want to leave.” 

Hermione looks around, chewing on her lip. She can’t remember the last time she’s seen so many single pureblood girls in the same room. “Why don’t we—” 

“Please take me away, Granger.” 

She swallows and nods, taking his hand and leading him down the hall. When they’re sufficiently far from the din, she asks, “Do you want to go home, or somewhere else?” She feels the need to ask. Something clearly happened tonight, and if they return to the Manor, she might never find out. It’s all too easy for him to disappear there. 

“I don’t know. I just want to not be here.” There’s a desperation in his eyes that cuts to her core.

“Alright.” She takes his arm and apparates them away.

It’s windy out along the water, but not overly so. She pulls her cloak out of her beaded bag to drape around her shoulders. Draco seems fine in his robes. The traffic noise of Muggle London is all around them, but the peaceful sight of the Thames offers a nice view. They’re walking along the south bank of the river and it’s quieter than the north side.

“I used to come here sometimes when I wanted to be alone.”

He stops and grabs the railing, looking out over the water and taking a deep breath. “It’s nice. Thanks, Granger.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Sometimes… when there’s so many people, I get a little claustrophobic. And I didn’t line my pockets with potions tonight, didn’t imbibe any spirits, so—”

She reaches over to take his hand. “I’m proud of you.”

He smiles—a real, genuine smile—and her chest constricts. He’s looking at her now with something unreadable in his eyes. She doesn’t dare dig too deeply because the answers scare her. His throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes squeeze tightly shut. “No one’s ever said those words to me before.”

She blinks up at him, stunned. No one has ever told him they’re proud of him? Not even his parents? She thinks about how he was always behind her in marks in school, always losing Quidditch matches to Harry. A slow anger unfurls in her chest. Draco Malfoy has always been second best, and it’s never once been good enough for his parents. She frowns as she stares out onto the murky river, frothing as it laps at the edge of the bridge. Pushing her emotions aside, she squeezes his hand a little tighter. “Let’s go home, Draco.”

It isn’t until they get back to the Manor that she realizes she’s just referred to this place as her home, too.

* * *

_ “Fuck, Draco.” He slides in and out of her, fire coursing through her veins. Every nerve ending is a live wire. His teeth graze her skin, his fingers bruise her flesh, his scent invades her nostrils. _

_ “You like my cock, Granger?” He smirks before wrapping his sinful mouth around one of her nipples. _

_ “Yes,” she moans. She doesn’t want to like it, but she really, really does. _

_ His sweat beads, rolling off his temple to splash on her sternum. He gives another forceful thrust, sending her over the edge, her muscles contracting in wave after wave of pleasure. _

Hermione wakes in a cold sweat, her clit still pulsing from what was clearly a very real orgasm. Groaning, she bites her lip and yanks the comforter up to her chin. This is too much to take. She can’t keep getting off to Draco, willingly or unwillingly. 

It’s not just her own pride and sanity at stake. It’s Draco’s. If she becomes another one of his conquests, how could he trust her to help him get his life on track? She’d be emotionally compromised and have lost all credibility—to him, to his parents, and to herself. She and Draco  _ both  _ need her to keep things professional, her libido aside. 

That’s likely the problem, really. She’s sexually frustrated, and it’s been far too long since she’s had any prospects, let alone a date.

She sighs and rolls over on her stomach. The last few times they’ve been out for happy hour, Harry has asked her if she wanted to be set up with a “mate” of his, whom he refused to identify. She declined each time out of deference to her busy schedule (not to mention her private fear that it might be a boring Percy Weasley type), but something has to give. 

Before she can change her mind, she jolts out of bed and pens a letter to Harry, telling him she’s had a change of heart. She spends the next couple of hours tossing and turning. Sunlight has just begun to creep through her curtains when she hears a pecking at her window. 

The date is on for that evening. 

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Draco asks at breakfast that morning, apparently in good spirits again.

She runs over the list—nothing major, some perfunctory functions and errand running—then takes a deep breath before the kicker. “And you have a date tonight with Meredith Slughorn.”

His face scrunches up in obvious distaste. “Slughorn?”

“Yes. She’s the professor’s niece, recently returned from America. She studied at Ilvermorny, but she  _ is _ part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.” Catching his expression, she bites back a grin. “Don’t worry, she looks nothing like her uncle.”

“So you say,” he grumbles. 

Hermione fixes him with a withering glare. “You’ll just have to trust me, then. Honestly, Malfoy, you have to at least  _ try.  _ We’re behind schedule on the wife part and you know full well what happens if you don’t succeed.”

He groans. “Fine.” He rubs his temples. “I suppose you’ll be secretly chaperoning this date, then? If you’re lying about her appearance, I swear I’ll come right over and—” 

“No, I won’t.” Hermione nibbles on a scone. She looks up to find him staring at her. 

“What if I decide to take her out? Or home? Perhaps indulge in a potion or two?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Don’t you need to make sure I behave myself, Granger?” 

“I’m trusting  _ you _ to be responsible for your own behavior. And to treat this date with the importance it deserves.” She swallows an overlarge, slightly scalding sip of tea. “In any case, I’m unavailable tonight.” 

“‘Unavailable?’” 

“I also have a date, if you really must know.” She looks him squarely in the eye even as her face heats. 

His eyebrow raises. “Oh? With whom?”

“A friend of Harry’s—none of your business.”

He smirks, holding his hands up in supplication, but she can see the hardness in his mouth as he begins buttering his toast. “Delightful. You’ll be on your date, I’ll be on mine. What could go wrong?”

* * *

A lot, as it turns out. Harry’s friend turns out to be Jack Sloper, a schoolmate whom she can only remember as being particularly bad at Quidditch, thanks to Harry’s extensive complaining their fifth year. Apparently he works at the Ministry now and eats lunch with the Aurors from time to time. But she hasn’t been able to learn much else about him because every time she tries to focus, she’s distracted by Malfoy’s gaze burning into her from across the room.

Yes, they ended up at the same bloody restaurant. She has no idea how, since she made Draco and Meredith’s reservation somewhere else. The cynical side in her suspects that Draco contacted every restaurant in town until he found out where she and Jack were headed. 

When she first entered and saw him sitting there, his smirk in place and a cocktail in hand, she almost grabbed Jack’s arm and marched them straight out the door. But she held back, deciding to handle herself like an adult—by ignoring him, of course.

She is beginning to question her judgment. 

Draco and Meredith are (thankfully) seated on the opposite side of the room, but that hasn’t stopped him from staring daggers at her, or miming his own hanging, or enchanting her napkin to suddenly depict a rude drawing of her date. She’s noticed him flag down the waiter twice for a refill on his drink. He’s all but ignoring Meredith, who has begun picking at her fingernails and sending longing glances at the exit. Hermione could throttle him. Maybe she will—who could blame her, really?

“Hermione?” Jack’s eyebrows raise as he brings her back to reality.

“I’m sorry, Jack. What were you saying?” She concentrates on his face as much as possible, his ashy blonde hair so different from Draco’s platinum. His green eyes are almost like Harry’s, but not as sharp. He’s not terrible looking.

“Oh, I was asking how you like your work. Your ‘freelancing.’”

_ That is... complicated, _ she thinks. “I like it well enough, I suppose. It has its ups and downs.” 

“Nice. Does it pay well?”

“Quite.” She smiles tightly. At least that part isn’t a lie.

They talk a bit more until their entrees come out, and Hermione thinks it’s not going terribly. Jack does get up to some interesting work in the Ministry, and they do have some things in common. Both of them enjoyed Ancient Runes more than any subject in school, for instance. Hermione sneaks a glance at Draco and Meredith while the waiter sets down their plates, and sees he has her laughing. She counts four empty glasses on the table—apparently Meredith abandoned her escape plan at some point, and proceeded to get sloshed. A flare of anger rips through Hermione before she tamps it down, remembering that it’s good that they’re at least connecting. It’s good practice for him, even if it’s not a love connection. This is what she wants. 

She had given him strict instructions for a proper polite goodnight to Meredith, so she feels comfortable letting her own date walk her outside and to the apparition point. 

“I had a nice time, Jack.” She smiles up at him. He’s not quite as tall as Draco, but still tall enough that she has to tilt her head back a bit to look in his eyes.

“Me too.” He runs a nervous hand through his hair, still looking in her eyes. She’s not sure if there’s enough connection to explore this any further, but once she was able to ignore her charge and focus on the man in front of her, she’d had a decent enough time.

He starts to lean in and Hermione realizes he’s going for the goodnight kiss. She closes her eyes in anticipation—why not? A throat clearing somewhere to the right of them ruins the moment and she opens her eyes to Jack glaring at someone. She knows exactly who it is without having to look.

“Excuse me, Granger. Am I interrupting something?” Malfoy stands there, sans date, a fire burning in his smoky eyes.

“Yes, actually. You  _ are. _ ” She moves her hands to her hips. The nerve of him.

Jack is looking confused. “Am I missing something?”

“Sorry, Jack. Draco is one of my clients and we’re supposed to have a meeting over Floo later, but we just happened to bump into each other now. Owl me?”

Jack nods and stares at her for a few moments. “Will do. I had a lovely evening, Hermione.” 

“Me too. Thank you, Jack.” She smiles sweetly at him as he disapparates. 

“You’re welcome.” Draco drawls, pulling a cigarette from his case and lighting it.

She stomps over, grabs it from his mouth, and crushes it beneath her heel. “You had no right!”

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you actually wanted to kiss that wanker.”

“And how would you know? You think you know what I want?” She can practically feel her nostrils flaring. 

He steps closer, invading her space. His smell is all around her: spice and mint with just a hint of cigarette smoke. “I do.”

Scoffing, she opens her mouth to argue with him, but she’s caught off guard by something in his expression. A mixture of fury and disgust. She takes a step back, eyes widening. 

He tilts his head back and laughs.  _ “As-tu peur de moi, ou de tes sentiments pour moi?” _

Before Hermione can respond, he grabs her arm and apparates them back to the Manor. She yanks it free the moment their feet hit the marble floor of the foyer. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled, Malfoy.”

He rolls his eyes, his cool mask on once more. “If I manhandled you, you’d know it.”

“Is this a bad time?” The voice startles them. They turn to see Theo standing some feet away, waiting with his hands in his pockets. He looks unusually disheveled.

“Not at all. I’m going to get ready for bed.” She turns back to Draco and gestures at Theo. “Make sure he’s gone by curfew.” Hermione brushes past the two men, ignoring the knot in her stomach. 

Instead of heading back to her room to change, she ducks into a dark drawing room and waits for them to pass. When she’s certain they’ve entered Draco’s sitting room, she quietly exits and tiptoes to the door. She doesn’t feel great about eavesdropping, but she’s certain something is wrong with Theo. Whatever it could be might affect Draco. 

“Can I get some more?” Nott’s voice is shaking.

“It’s going to take me at least a day to brew some more.” Draco’s voice is even and controlled. “Did you sell all the last batch already? That was supposed to last two weeks.”

“I may have… sampled some.”

A sigh. “Theo—”

“I know.  _ I know. _ It’s just... been a bad week, mate.”

The silence that follows is so long that Hermione wonders if they cast a silencing charm. And then: “Here. Take this Calming Draught. It will help you sleep, and I’ll have a new batch for you soon. But you have to stay on top of things or you’ll never be able to get out.”

“Thanks. You’re so good to me.”

She bites her lip, having heard enough. Theo is apparently going through more than she thought. And Draco clearly cares for him, even if she disagrees with his methods. She’s also not pleased to hear confirmation that he’s still brewing the potion, but she’ll have to take it up with him later. 

She starts to slip away, but stops cold when she hears her name.

“You making any headway with Granger?”

A low laugh. “Pretty sure she still hates me. I thought it was getting better between us, but she’s made it clear that she wants to get rid of me as soon as possible.” 

“No offense, mate, but are you really surprised? She’s overqualified—”

“It’s more than that. It’s personal.” 

Hermione can hear her own heartbeat in the quiet of the hallway. 

“Suppose I’m used to people thinking I’m a monster,” Draco continues. “Don’t know what I was expecting, really.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Fine. Death Eater fuck up, then. Semantics.” 

Hermione races back to her room before she can hear anything else. She shuts and locks the door behind her, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. Slowly, she sheds her clothes, ruminating on all she heard. She wonders why Draco’s words sliced through her like shards of glass. 

* * *

Hermione wakes in the middle of the night with a sinking feeling in her gut. Something is wrong— she can feel it in the prickle at the back of her neck. She always thought Divination was rubbish, but by now she’s learned to trust her intuition. She creeps out of bed, rousing Crooks, who shoots her a disgruntled look.

The hall is still and dark, so she illuminates the end of her wand as she makes her way to Draco’s room. The unsettling feeling in her stomach intensifies. She takes a deep breath as her hand hovers over the doorknob. The last time she entered his room unannounced, it hadn’t gone well. But she has to check on him—it’s part of her job. Isn’t it?

She silently opens the door and peers in. He isn’t there.

_ Shite. _ This isn’t good. It’s after curfew and the wards she set up would’ve alerted her if Draco tried to leave the premises, so he has to be somewhere in the house. Her instincts lead her down to the lab, where light is filtering out from beneath the heavy door.

When she enters, a faint hissing fills her ears. The air feels charged with  _ something _ —it’s not dark magic, exactly, but it doesn’t feel  _ good _ . She turns to find Draco slumped over one of the tables, his left arm outstretched. He’s breathing, thank Merlin. Perhaps he passed out? 

As she approaches she realizes with a jolt of horror that steam is rising from his skin. He’s softly whimpering as a sizzling noise accompanies whatever is burning its way across his flesh.

“Draco! What are you doing?” 

His head snaps up at her voice, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “I can’t get it off,” he mumbles. “I’ve tried everything.”

His words race through her, startling her out of her shock. She rushes over to find angry red pustules all over the area where his Dark Mark used to be. “What have you done? You can’t just burn your skin off!”

“Nothing else has worked. This is the only—” He breaks off with a yelp, and her heart seizes in her chest. She’d tried to cradle his burning arm. 

“I’m sorry, Draco… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

Tears are streaking his face, but he can’t bring himself to meet her gaze. He presses his forehead to the table, still whimpering. 

She focuses on breathing. She can’t panic. There’s a cauldron nearby, but the contents have long cooled off. It would take her too much time to figure out the antidote to whatever he did. Instead, she sprints over to the cabinets and rattles through the bottles, searching for his dittany. She stumbles in her haste back to him, where he almost looks comatose. His eyes shoot open as she applies it to his skin, grunting and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Her vision blurs as she holds his arm still, muttering spells to stop the burning, reduce swelling, and ward off infection. To replenish his blood platelets and siphon out toxins. She’s used these spells so many times they don’t even require a conscious thought. When she’s finally finished, she casts a cooling charm.

They can assess the full damage later and decide how to proceed, but for now she’s staunched it. She stares down at his mangled arm, shoulders shaking. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until his free hand comes up to wipe her tears. “These for me, Granger?”

“Why would you do that?” Her voice is almost a whisper.

“I want it gone! I don’t want to be reminded of my terrible choices anymore. Of what a failure I am.”

“You’re not a failure,” she says fiercely, and before she can stop herself, she’s wrapping her arm around him and dragging his head to her chest. 

He grabs fistfuls of her nightgown and sobs, unable to hold it back anymore. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “For everything. All of it.”

Tears slide down her cheeks as she strokes his hair. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the great comments and kudos on this story so far! I've been behind at responding to comments, but please know that I love and appreciate each one! <3
> 
>  _As-tu peur de moi, ou de tes sentiments pour moi?_ \-- Are you scared of me or the way you feel about me? (thanks Reylolujah for the translation)
> 
> As always thanks to raven_maiden, my illustrious beta! Barring any unforeseen circumstance, the next update should be April 5th.


	6. A Hit of Dopamine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the great feedback on the last chapter! I love all of your comments, even if I don't get to respond to each one personally. I hope everyone is staying safe and sane right now! <3
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, raven_maiden.

Hermione feels awful the next morning. She tries not to look, but her eyes keep wandering back to Draco’s bandaged arm. It’s hard to feel relieved that his Dark Mark is gone when a new scar has mangled his pale skin. 

He’s relatively silent as he eats his breakfast, having not looked at her or spoken to her once since sitting down.

“Draco,” she starts, her voice thick.

“I don’t want your pity, Granger. Save it.” His tone tells her that he’s done talking about it, and he still won’t meet her eyes. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Right. Stiff upper lip. She’s good at that—she is British, after all. She gives him a rundown of their schedule for the day while he nods and finishes his eggs. She frowns and sips her tea. 

His apology has taken root in her heart, soothing an old wound she wasn’t even aware of. But now he’s acting like nothing happened. They make it through the day with very little incident. In fact, Draco has become so quiet that it concerns her. She turns to him after they leave the stuffy charity dinner Narcissa insisted they attend. “Draco.” His step slows, but he doesn’t stop. Reluctantly, she catches up to him. “We don’t have to talk about what happened, but the silence is killing me.”

He shrugs as they walk back to the apparition point. “What do you want me to say, Granger?”

She flinches at the frustration in his voice. “I don’t know. Clearly you want to forget about last night, but I can’t do that when you’re acting like this. Normally I can’t get you to shut up.” She smiles, hoping for some levity, but he doesn’t return it.

“Consider my silence a gift, then.” He takes her arm rather roughly as they apparate to the Manor.

* * *

As the week drags on, she can feel him pulling away. On the surface he’s been the picture perfect ward. Better than ever, in fact. He’s been more agreeable, not responding to her directions with sarcasm—which she actually kind of misses. He didn’t even put up a fight when she pressed the issue of his future wife. He’s had tea with a couple pureblood girls and they both walked away looking like they’d been thoroughly charmed. She should feel relieved, but the twisting in her stomach seems anything but. 

She happened to catch Narcissa in the hall the other day, and even she had complimented Hermione on how well she’d done with Draco. But something is off. Hermione doesn’t understand why he’s become distant as soon as they had a breakthrough. 

Unless that’s the problem. If he feels like she’s gotten too close, maybe that’s why he’s pushing her away. She can’t let him throw away everything she’s worked so hard for. He’s only just started to let her in. Then again, she’s not even sure why it matters. Her chest gives a little lurch.

Draco has gone to his room for a nap, and she’s coming back from a blissful uninterrupted hour in the library when the sound of voices coming from the sitting room rouses her attention. _Guess he’s awake._ No sooner does she close in on the door, than it swings open harshly, an angry Theo storming through it.

“I get it if you can’t help, but don’t pretend to give a rat’s arse when they find me dead in an alley.” Nott’s hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He breezes past her. “Nice to see you again, Granger. Sorry I couldn’t stay for tea.”

“Fine, I won’t bother!” Draco yells back. As soon as Theo turns the corner his shoulders sag, and she can tell there’s no weight behind his words. His pained expression makes her want to reach out and hold him. Strange how she’s been getting that urge more and more these days.

“What was that about?” Hermione asks. Her heart starts beating faster.

“You don’t want to know,” he mutters. “Excuse me, but I have some things I’m behind on.”

Draco takes off for the lab, and she follows him. She won’t let him brush her off this time. He stiffens when he realizes that she’s coming with him, but he doesn’t try to stop her. She supposes it’s because he’d have to talk to her to make her go away. 

Just as she suspects, he starts a fire for the cauldron as soon as they’re down there and begins dumping ingredients in. She storms around to his side of the table and wedges herself between him and the cauldron.

His mouth is in a thin line, and he jerks his head as if to shoo her away. “I need to stir that.”

She pauses, then places her hands on his chest. She’s going to get through to him even if it means breaking her own rules. He stares at her hands, then her, his eyes wide. “You have to stop making drugs, Draco. You’re so talented—you could be making _any_ kind of potion. Things that could help people instead of get them high.”

He steps away, his nostrils flaring. “Why should I? Do you know what Theo’s life was like before the war, Granger?” He rakes a hand through his hair, turning his back to her. “After? How he was abused by his terrible father and haunted by nightmares? Do you know what it was like for _me_ ? Having that—that _monster_ inhabit my home? Still having to live here after with the ghosts? The potions helped me forget, at least for a while. I expect they do the same for others.”

She’s shocked silent for a moment, taking a few steps forward to follow him. She reaches out to touch his arm, but then thinks better of it. “I know, but… this isn’t the way. There are other ways of dealing with it, ways that won’t harm you physically.”

He swivels back and steps into her, their hips nearly touching. “You say that like you care.”

“I do.” _Too much, probably._

He scoffs. “And what ‘other ways’ do you suggest dealing with it, huh? Talking to a mind healer? Taking up knitting?” He fingers the ties on her blouse.

She inhales shakily. “It’s a start, yeah.”

“Or maybe a more physical hobby?” He leans in closer. Hermione backs up until her bum is against the counter. There’s nowhere left to go. His eyes darken. “Maybe something like this?” His hand skirts her throat, snaking around the back of her neck. His breath ghosts over her ear, lips grazing the sensitive skin.

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, trying to ignore the heat pooling in her belly. _Not like this_ , she thinks. She wonders if he remembers their first kiss. If his lips burn with the memory of it likes hers do. “No. I won’t be one of the girls that you just use up and toss aside.”

He’s practically nibbling on her ear now. His other hand digs into her hip. “You think it would be like that, Granger? I’d make you come so many times you’d lose count. Fuck you deep into the mattress and keep you there all night. Then wake up and do it all over again.”

She shouldn’t want it, but she does. She opens her eyes, risking a glance at him, and he looks intoxicated by her. His nose brushes her hairline, and he breathes her in like an inhalant. Like he’d make her his new drug of choice if she let him. For a minute, she wonders what it would be like, to be craved in that way. To feel what it’s like to have someone be desperate for her. “No. I’d want—”

“Tell me what you want, Granger.” His voice is dripping with desire and she really wants to give in, but— 

The truth spills out. The awful truth that she hasn’t even been able to admit to herself yet. “I’d want more than a casual fuck.” Because that’s all it would be for him, wouldn’t it? She swallows thickly. It’s finally out there. She can’t take it back. 

His eyes open, and he stares at her, almost as if he’s confused by her words. Like he didn’t expect her to have these feelings. She can feel the warmth from where he’s pressed up against her and it’s excruciating—having him so close, yet still so far. “I-I can’t give you what you want. My parents won’t—”

“I know.” She frantically wipes a stray tear that’s found its way down her cheek, as the full sense of what she’s just done washes over her. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m tired. I shouldn’t have—” 

He grabs her wrists before she can bolt. He leans his forehead against hers and whispers, _“J’aimerais pouvoir te donner ce que tu mérites.”_

“Draco, please.” She wriggles herself free, and he lets her go, a look of resignation on his face. Hermione somehow walks away, even though everything inside of her wants to grab him and pull him into her. 

She turns back before ascending the stairs to see him still bent over the counter, his shoulders quivering slightly. She wonders if he’s as affected as she is. If he feels anything for her, or if he just wants a good shag. Maybe it’s somewhere in between. She thinks she can handle that, at least. 

When she reaches her room, she casts a silencing spell before sitting down in her chair for a good cry. Taking this job was a mistake. It’s caused her nothing but pain. She has to finish now, if only to help repair her sham of a career. But she remembers what Draco had said to her before—none of this is even what he _wants_ for his life, but it’s what his parents want. It makes her cry more to think he will never be happy. She feels so helpless.

Crookshanks wanders over and hops into her lap, nuzzling her hand. She slowly pets him as she wipes at her face. “At least I still have you, boy.”

As if on cue, there’s a gentle tapping at her window. She lets in the snowy owl and takes the letter from him, giving him a small treat in return. It’s a letter from Harry with a flyer for Ron’s next gig this Friday. She brightens a little at the prospect of getting out of the Manor for a bit. Then she thinks about having to meet with Lucius to request a night off. 

A plan starts to formulate in her mind about how she can be there to support her friend and not have to talk to Mr. Malfoy. Draco could use some time with the common folk, after all. Maybe it would do them both some good to be around other people. She just hopes it won’t be another mistake.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Granger.” Draco’s eyes are pleading as she sits down to dinner with him. She was going to take her meal in her room, but something made her change her mind at the last minute. Wilt surveys the two of them in silence as he hovers full plates of food before them. “I was keyed up from my fight with Theo, and I took it out on you. You deserve better. I won’t— _take advantage_ of our situation again.”

Hermione doesn’t bother trying to hide her surprise at his apology. Is that what he thinks happened? All she can focus on is her telling him that she wants him—for more than just sex. And her embarrassment over him not feeling the same way. “Thank you. Apology accepted.”

His shoulders sag in relief. 

“In fact,” she continues. “It would be great if we could just pretend like the whole incident never happened—including anything that may or may not have been said.”

His eyes flash with anger for a moment. “If that’s how you want it…”

“It is.”

“Fine.” He takes a swig of water and sets his glass down a bit too hard, some of it sloshing over the side.

She presses her lips together tightly before changing the subject. “On that note, how would you like to accompany me Friday night for an outing? One not designed by your parents.”

He looks up from his soup, hope in his stormy eyes. “Really? What?”

She sighs, anticipating his snarky remarks before launching into an explanation of how Ron Weasley is now apparently some kind of singing sensation. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it would do you some good to get out of here for a bit—and okay, I know you don’t much like Harry and Ron, but—”

“Alright,” he interrupts her.

“Wait, what?” She pauses cutting her chicken.

“It sounds entertaining at least. I’ll go with you.” He must be desperate for a distraction, to agree so readily.

Hermione smiles before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Good,” she says at last.

By the time Friday rolls around, she and Draco are on much better terms. He’s been joining her in the library, showing her all his favorite books. He has a taste for Muggle fantasy authors, surprisingly. Theo doesn’t stop by again, leaving Draco in good spirits (and sober) for most of their tasks. They attend a charity luncheon where he attracts a few more women. Hermione arranges to have them at the Manor for tea dates. She ignores the little voice inside that tells her none of them are right for Draco. It isn’t like there’s any other option. 

Hermione had mentioned to Harry earlier in the week that she would be at Ron’s gig, but she didn’t tell him she was bringing Draco. She figures it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, anyway. She stands in front of the mirror, trying to decide what to wear. In one hand she holds a black silky blouse that she plans on pairing with jeans, in the other, she has a kelly green slip dress. 

“I like the dress,” says a masculine voice from the doorway.

She squeals and drops the clothes as she looks up to see Draco standing there eyeing her curiously. Then she realizes she’s in only her bra and knickers. “Draco!” she shrieks.

“Sorry, the door was open!” He pops his hand up to shield his eyes as she scrambles to cover herself. She notices the gap between his fingers widen just a tad as she bends over. 

“The door may have been _cracked_ , but it certainly was not open. Get out!” 

“Fine, I’m going. But you should know, Granger—you have nothing to be ashamed about.” He chuckles a bit as she slams the door on him with wandless magic.

* * *

In the end, she picks the green dress and tries to tell herself it’s not just because Draco liked it. She pulls half of her hair back with a little clip and gives herself a satisfied smile in the mirror. As they leave the Manor, he gives her a once over. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

They arrive at the pub on time and Harry waves them over to the corner booth where he’s seated with Ginny, Jack, and—

“Pansy?” Draco’s mouth opens wide as he sees her seated with the rest of them.

“Draco,” she says cooly, sipping on what looks like a cosmopolitan.

“What are you doing here?” He completely ignores everyone else at the table.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she bites back.

“I brought him. Thought it might be fun, which I’m now reconsidering,” Hermione says, glancing around the table. 

“You didn’t mention you were bringing Malfoy, Hermione.” Harry looks irritated, trying to communicate with her through a look. He nods ever so slightly in Jack’s direction, and she gets the hint.

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

“Not an issue”—Ginny elbows Harry, who yelps, but then they all scoot over—“there’s plenty of room.”

Jack’s eyes rove over Hermione’s nice dress, then to Draco’s tailored black robes. “I thought he was your client? Are you two dating?”

Hermione’s eyes widen, and she quickly stammers, “No, no. We’re—um, well, we—”

“We’re just friends,” Draco finishes for her.

She flashes him as much gratitude as she can muster nonverbally “Yes, friends. Friends who work together.”

Draco looks at Pansy again. “So what’s the deal, Parkinson? You suddenly grow a penchant for Gryffindors?”

Ginny, master of bluntness, lays it out on the table—what Hermione had suspected but not yet confirmed. “She and Ron are together.”

Somehow, Draco turns a whiter shade of pale. “Fabulous,” he deadpans. “Barkeep!”

Ron’s set is wonderful and Hermione can tell that Pansy really fancies him, with the way she watches him as he sings. It nearly turns her stomach the way Ron finds her face in the crowd and seems to direct all his attention to her. He certainly never looked at Hermione that way. It’s not that she misses Ron romantically. But it would be nice to have someone look at her like that. 

Hermione has more to drink that she had been intending, but not nearly as much as Draco. He only starts pounding them harder after Jack and Harry switch places so the former can chat her up. She has been trying her best to have a pleasant conversation with Jack while not completely ignoring Draco, but it hasn’t been going well. At one point, Jack touches her knee, and Draco rolls his eyes before ordering another round.

She really should’ve stopped him at some point, but the whole night has been terribly uncomfortable and alcohol seems to alleviate some of the tension—at least momentarily. Harry and Ginny are sloshed, too.

When Ron is finished, he comes down and gives Pansy a kiss. “Disgusting,” Draco mumbles. 

“Oi, Malfoy—what are you doing here?” Ron snaps.

“He’s with me,” Hermione calls out.

“She’s moved onto greener pastures, mate. So you can bugger right off.” Draco smirks as if he’s one-upped Ron somehow. Jack frowns from the other side of Hermione, not impressed with this display.

Ron doesn’t even ask any questions. He just pulls Draco up from the booth and decks him.

“Ron!” Hermione screams. “What was that for?”

“I—you said—”

Pansy merely giggles at the sight of Draco sprawled out on the floor. “They’re not dating, Ron. He was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Oh. Blimey.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, he deserved it, anyway.” 

Hermione helps Draco up. “Let’s go,” she whispers, and he nods, clearly not interested in a fight while this sauced.

“Do you need help, Hermione?” Jack looks concerned, and she gives him a wan smile. He really is a nice bloke.

“I’ve got it covered, but thank you. See you around?”

He nods, and she follows Draco outside.

“Did you know about this, Granger? My ex and your ex? Bloody amusing, isn’t it?” He slurs his words a bit as he stumbles out of the bar.

“I had an inkling—”

He scoffs, spitting a glob of blood on the sidewalk. “An inkling? Oh that’s rich. It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” She quickly pulls out her wand and mutters a healing spell on his lip, wiping away the excess blood with her thumb. She lets it linger on his lip a beat too long before she catches herself. She moves her hand down to his arm.

His eyes are glassy. “Why do _they_ get to be happy and we—well, I—” He shakes his head. She pulls her hand back, confused.

“‘Mione?” Ron rushes outside. “You need help getting rid of this wanker?” He glowers at Draco, trying to stand between them.

Hermione feels the rage course through her. How dare he come check on her after the stunt he pulled. “Go back inside, Ron! This isn’t any of your business.”

“I’ll just leave you two to your lovers’ quarrel then,” Draco sneers. He storms off before she can stop him. She whips around to Ron.

His face turns as red as his hair. “The hell it isn’t my business! Are you not still my friend, ‘Mione? I care about your well-being.”

“Yes, well part of _my_ well-being these days is caring for _Malfoy’s_ well-being, so if you’ll just excuse me.” She starts to go after Draco, but Ron grabs her arm.

“You shouldn’t. Just leave him be. He’s a right prick.”

“Let go of me,” she hisses.

Ron frowns. “I was watching you two from up on stage. He’s obsessed with you, you know. Always has been in my opinion.”

Hermione laughs dryly despite the fluttering in her stomach. “Don’t be ridiculous. He barely tolerates me. I’m practically his babysitter.” The words ring hollow even to her own ears. 

Ron releases her. “Fine then, go. But that man wants more than a professional relationship with you, Hermione. And he’s no good for you. I just want you to be happy.”

“Well I appreciate the concern, but I assure you, it’s misplaced.”

He throws up his hands in surrender and shakes his head before heading back into the bar.

She takes off in search of her charge. He surely stumbled off into an alley somewhere to pass out. She can only hope he didn’t severely injure himself in the process. After he was already injured from Ron’s blow. _The nerve,_ she thinks, fuming. 

Then she spots him, slumped over against a rubbish bin. “Draco!” She rushes over, quickly enervating him. “Are you alright?” 

He blinks slowly. “Granger,” he says with a labored breath. “Get rid of your ex-boyfriend?” He leans into her touch, his face warm against her cool hand. She thinks she feels his lips purse against her palm, but it’s probably just her imagination.

“Drink this,” she says, slipping a vial from her bag.

Once he has it down and can stand again, she apparates them both back to the Manor. She plops him onto his bed, flicks her wand to remove his shoes, and is about to leave when he grabs her wrist. She really wishes people would stop doing that.

“Stay,” he pleads.

She shakes her head. “Oh no you don’t. If you think for one second—”

“I won’t do anything. Just—please stay. I don’t want to be alone.”

She sighs and looks at him, her resolve faltering. His grey eyes are bloodshot, but still sincere. Pleading. If she says no, who knows what he’ll do. She can’t leave him alone when he’s in a state like this. “Fine. But I swear to God, Malfoy, if you grope me—”

“I know, I know. You’ll hex my bollocks off.”

“You’re bloody right I will.” 

He scoots over enough to make room for her on the bed. Hermione slips out of her shoes and removes her coat before sliding in beside him, leaving plenty of room for the Holy Ghost—or nargles, as Luna might say. When she turns to face him, he’s staring at her.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

“It’s kind of my job.”

“Still. You could quit at any time. It’s not like you couldn’t find a job somewhere else.” He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear. “You’re Hermione fucking Granger—who wouldn’t want you?”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just stares at him. Her heart feels ready to shatter into a million pieces. Could Ron have been right? He turns over then, his back to her. She tells herself she’ll only stay till he falls asleep then make her way back to her own room.

“Goodnight, Granger,” she hears him mumble.

“Goodnight, Draco.” She falls asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _J’aimerais pouvoir te donner ce que tu mérites_ \-- I wish I could give you what you deserve (thanks to reylolujah for the translation).
> 
> Next update should be 4/19!


	7. Blowing Shit Up with Homemade Dynamite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter, I cherish them all! I haven't had the chance to respond, but I really appreciate your feedback. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta, raven_maiden!

Hermione stretches slowly in the haze between sleeping and waking, wiggling her fingers and toes as life flows through her body. She feels  _ good, _ like she’s gotten her first truly restful sleep in a long time. She releases a contented sigh and her eyes widen as an arm tightens around her waist. 

Recollection breaks over her, along with a hint of remorse. She never made it back to her room. She fell asleep in Draco’s bed. And now—they’re  _ cuddling? _ Oh no, she can’t abide by this. She starts to move.

The arm around her middle tightens like a vice. “Calm down, Granger. You’re thinking too loudly.” His lips press against her neck, and he has the audacity to nuzzle against her.

It feels so nice. For a moment, she lets herself pretend. That this could be real—that this morning could be the first in a long line of mornings just like this. “Fine,” she grumbles, turning over in his arms to face him. 

Her hand lands on his chest, but he doesn’t let her go. He still smells a bit of stale alcohol, but she finds she doesn’t mind. There’s a twinkle in his eye that’s just for her. “You stayed.”

“You asked me to.” Her voice is soft and inviting, even to her own ears. 

He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes shifting to a slightly darker grey. Then his mouth is on hers, and she doesn’t even try to stop him. She doesn’t want to. Instead, she grips his shirt tightly and pulls him closer. It’s sweet relief, the culmination of too much tension between the two of them. Her body relaxes, and she melts into him.

Draco runs his tongue along her lower lip and she parts for him, allowing him to slip inside and taste her. It’s heady, all languid and soft, unlike the first time they kissed—when he was drunk and brash. She moans and he rolls them over until she’s on her back, his thigh slipping between her legs.

He’s oh so careful with her as he pulls back, smiles, and starts kissing her again. This is even better than she’s been imagining, the way their mouths slot together as if they were made to align. She has one hand tangled in his hair and the other slides down to feel the taut muscles of his back. He’s up to his normal healthy weight again and just very—fit. She resists the urge to let her hand drift lower and squeeze his arse, though she really wants to.

Then he presses himself into her and she can feel his erection on her thigh. It makes her gasp. Before she can protest, he’s pulling her hands up above her head and pinning her wrists with one hand. He kisses her some more before dragging his mouth down her jaw and nibbling on her neck.

This is too much. She has to stop him before it goes any further. “Draco,” she murmurs.

He releases the skin of her neck, blood rushing to paint the space he left. “Want to make you feel good, Granger.”

Hermione whines, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. He’s surely giving her more hickeys, currently in the dip between her collarbone and neck. She’ll have to glamour the area. Part of her knows he’s just waiting for her to tell him to stop. And she should, she really should. Because there’s no future for them, right? But what he’s doing with his mouth, it’s sinful. She almost wants to see how low he’ll go. His hand tightens around her wrists, and she feels the wetness grow between her traitorous thighs. 

His lips are inching closer to the swell of her breasts. She needs to make a decision, but—

The fireplace erupts suddenly and the noise stops Draco in his actions. “Sorry to interrupt,” a slightly slurred voice moans before a loud thump makes them both turn.

Theo Nott is passed out on the floor in front of Draco’s fireplace, his face badly bruised and bloody.

Draco jumps up quickly and rushes to his friend’s side. “Theo! Mate, stay with me.” He casts a few spells cleaning the blood from his face and healing what injuries he can.

Hermione watches in horror as he casts a diagnostic spell and assesses whether Nott has any broken bones. It’s clearly not the first time he’s done this. “Is he alright?”

“He will be. Help me with him. We need to get him to one of the spare rooms, but I want to be discreet about it.”

She nods and they levitate Nott’s unconscious form to a room down the hall. It’s the last bedroom on Draco’s wing of the Manor and it looks like somewhere Theo may have stayed in the past. It’s slightly lived in, decorated in shades of gray and black. 

Draco arranges him in the bed, now clean of blood and most bruises. He summons several vials of potions and wakes Theo just long enough to drink them. Once he’s resting comfortably, Draco turns to Hermione and leads her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

She watches him in silence for a moment, feeling the weight of what just happened. “You handled that rather well—I take it that’s not the first time?”

He shakes his head. “No, but it might have been the worst. Theo’s father is a real piece of work. I still can’t believe he bribed his way out of Azkaban.”

“He  _ what? _ ”

Draco nods solemnly, taking her arm and leading her back to his room. “Recently released. They cited good behavior or some other bollocks. That’s why Theo’s been having such a rough go of it. I think his father must have a friend in the Ministry.”

“That—that’s unconscionable.” Hermione’s blood is boiling, and she wants to hit something. It’s just so unfair.

Draco shrugs. “It is what it is.” He runs his hands up and down her arms. They’re both still in their clothes from the night before. “Should we pick up where we left off?”

Hermione stiffens a bit, shirking off his touch. It was easier when she could blame her poor decision making on being half-asleep still, but in the cold light of day, the shame rushes in and makes her cold. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

He takes the hint and backs away. He’s so good at schooling his features that she can’t even tell if he’s hurt. “I see. Better get cleaned up for breakfast then.”

She nods absently. There’s a tightness in her chest. It would be easy to give in to what they clearly both want—but where will that leave them? She returns to her room, a heavy feeling in her gut as she steps into the shower.

* * *

After breakfast, Hermione and Draco go to check on Theo. The room has been filled with his things. She can’t say she’s surprised, but she does shoot him a disapproving look.

“I know what you’re thinking, Granger, but I certainly couldn’t send him back home. Could I?”

She crosses her arms. “I suppose not. It’s probably for the best that he stays here for a bit until he gets back on his feet. And your parents?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Hermione sighs. “How exactly are you going to keep this secret?”

“Easy. I bribed the house elves—they like me better than Mother and Father anyway. You won’t tattle on me, will you?”

She bites her lip, considering. He isn’t her boss, technically Lucius is. But she also knows how brutal Mr. Malfoy can be. She’d hate to see Theo come to any worse harm. “No, I won’t. Just—be careful, Draco.” She touches his arm before leaving the room, and he offers her a wan smile.

Theo is back to his normal self within a few days, and given how much Narcissa and Lucius are gone, they haven’t noticed his presence yet. Hermione is… struggling. Because on the surface, Draco is being a good friend in a time of need.

But on the other hand, Theo is a bit of a bad influence. She’s already caught them smoking on the balcony together, and she’s pretty sure Draco pocketed a vial before she entered the room the other day. She can’t let Nott undo all her hard work. She resigns herself to having a chat with him today.

The fact of the matter is that there isn’t as much for her to do these days. Draco has been better for the most part, and most of their events have tapered off. He is still having tea with potential brides, but his upcoming birthday looms over Hermione’s head like a deadline. So this thing with Theo has happened at both the best and worst possible time.

She chides herself again for letting it get so far the other day. Waking up next to him had been so nice—felt so right—that for a moment, she didn’t overthink it. He’s mostly kept his distance since then, being so preoccupied with Theo and his whole situation. It’s for the best, really. At least that’s what she tells herself. It feels like there’s a war going on inside of her that she didn’t sign up for.

As she approaches the sitting room, Draco walks out. He nods at her and brushes her arm in passing. “Granger.”

“Draco.” She offers him a smile, and he returns it. She heads into the room, finding Theo still sitting on the sofa. “Mind if I talk with you a moment?”

Theo grins and scoots over, patting the cushion beside him invitingly. “Not at all.”

“Look, I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, and I’m really glad you’re here. You and Draco are obviously very close—”

“But,” he interrupts. When she turns her raised brow to him, he shrugs. “I sensed the ‘but’ coming on.”

“However,” Hermione continues, slightly rattled. “Draco has been making real progress and I don’t want to see him fall back into bad habits.”

“Just what are you accusing me of, Granger?” He swivels to face her better, his body language still open and nonchalant, as if they’re discussing the weather.

“Nothing specifically… yet. Just, don’t drag him down with you.”

Theo stands up. “You think  _ I’m _ dragging him down?”

Hermione follows suit. “Not intentionally, but—you remind him of his demons.”

Theo swivels, his face contorted with anger and shock. “ _ I _ remind him? Don’t be daft, Granger. You  _ are _ his demons.”

“Me?” She is aghast, as if he just slapped her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh no? So it  _ wasn’t _ you that was tortured downstairs in what used to be the parlor—oh that’s right, until Draco burned it down in a fit of rage.”

She stammers a bit as she processes this information. “But Wilt didn’t say—”

“Oh, come off it. It’s one thing to know you’re on the wrong side of a war, it’s quite another to watch the girl you fancy nearly die in front of you. He was torn up about it for ages.”

Theo’s admission hits her like a brick to the chest. “I—I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re too busy trying to ignore the way you two feel about each other.” He stomps around the room and pauses at the door. “I know I have issues, and I’m not the best bloke. But if you think I’m the biggest threat to Draco’s rehabilitation, then you really don’t know him that well.”

Theo walks out of the room and Hermione plops back down on the sofa, head reeling.

* * *

Hermione avoids Draco and Theo the rest of the day—they don’t have anything scheduled until dinner, anyway. She wanders the Manor and drifts past the library. She is about to go in when a subtle shuffling behind her stops her in her tracks.

“Care for some tea, Miss Granger?” Narcissa stands there, looking posh as ever in her burgundy robes, with lips painted to match.

Hermione realizes this is not an invitation as much as it is a requirement, so she agrees. “Tea sounds lovely.” She smooths down her plain peach skirt, suddenly thankful she’d chosen to wear a dress today. It still feels shabby in comparison to Narcissa’s outfit. 

The house elf—one Hermione isn’t familiar with—begins pouring their tea. Narcissa looks her over carefully before beginning. “First off, I wanted to thank you. You’ve done a great job with Draco so far and I’ve heard from several circles that he has become quite the coveted suitor.” She accepts the porcelain cup from the elf and takes a sip. “Squeeze of lemon, please.” She turns back to Hermione. “This is quite a feat when you think about where he was last year, so it’s very commendable.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Of course. Credit where credit is due.” She sets her cup down with a light clang. “I’m sure you two have become quite close over the course of these last few months. I rather expected there to be a bit more arguing and complaining.”

“Oh there was at first.” Hermione smiles a bit, remembering how difficult Draco had been when she started this position. “But we slowly grew to an understanding.”

“Understanding, yes.” Narcissa blots the corner of her mouth, though there seems to be nothing there. “I’ll be frank with you, Hermione. Draco has been dragging his feet about this wife business.”

“I know, and I’ve been trying—”

Narcissa cuts her off. “And don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at him.”

Hermione is aghast. She nearly chokes on her tea. “I don’t—”

“Please don’t interrupt, dear. I consider myself a modern woman. I don’t really care if you and my son want to have a little  _ fun _ here and there—as long as proper precautions are being taken—but that is all it can be. Draco’s inheritance rests on him finding a  _ pure-blood _ wife.” 

The color drains from Hermione’s face. She knew this, of course, but hearing Narcissa say it so plainly makes the bile rise in her throat. There is no future for her and Draco, not if he wants to keep his money. She takes a deep breath and steels herself. “I can assure you, Mrs. Malfoy, there is nothing untoward going on between me and your son.”

Narcissa arches a perfectly plucked brow. “If you insist. You know, Lucius is very clever. Strategy and business—he really is at the top of his game there. But emotions and matters of the heart? He’s never been very adept at that. He was sure having you around would present no temptation for Draco, but I know my son. I think he probably considers himself quite taken with you.”

Hermione’s cheeks flush in spite of herself. “I very much doubt that.”

“You’re too modest, Miss Granger. You are a very pretty and intelligent young woman. If you had a better pedigree, I’d be delighted to have you as a daughter-in-law. But you understand, this is the Malfoy name we’re talking about.”

She nods and swallows down a million things she wants to say, knowing it would do no good to argue otherwise. She squeezes her eyes shut for only a moment, refusing to let her emotions show. “I understand.”

“Perfect.” Narcissa smiles as she reaches for her tea. “At any rate, I’m throwing a big gala for Draco’s birthday in a month, and he will propose to his chosen bride then. I do hope you’ll be instrumental in arranging everything.”

“Of course. It’s my job, isn’t it?” Hermione presses her lips into a tight smile. She forces herself to finish her tea before leaving, so as not to give Narcissa the satisfaction of knowing how much she’s hurt her.

* * *

Hermione’s sleep suffers. She’s tempted to ask Draco for a potion to help, but that would call attention to her problems, and then he might inquire into the cause. She settles for a long bath before bed, running the conversations with both Theo and Narcissa again and again in her head. How could she have gotten so careless? Clearly the best course of action is to finish up with her duties and leave Malfoy Manor—and all its occupants—squarely in her past. 

A few more days pass. Either Lucius and Narcissa haven’t noticed there’s another person staying in their house, or they simply don’t care. Hermione and Draco have just returned from a luncheon with one of ‘frontrunners’ for his hand, Penelope Travers. She’s perfectly pleasant and rather pretty, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. She seems intelligent enough and has even made Draco laugh a few times.

Out of all of them, Hermione hates her the least. 

She is about to go to her room to change when Draco stops her in the hall. “There you are. I have something to show you.”

She hesitates. “What is it?”

“Just come with me, Granger.” He tugs on her arm.

With some reluctance, she follows him down into his potions lab. The last time they were alone down here, she almost gave in to her desire for him, and now—it’s even more complicated. They still haven’t discussed what happened in his bed.

Things have been tense since her and Theo’s argument last week. She has suspected Draco started using again, but it would seem he’s not high right now. Which is a relief, but she still isn’t sure if she can trust him to do what’s best for himself. “Draco, what is all this?”

“I took your advice and started working on potions for other, more legal things. I’ve been experimenting with healing draughts.” There’s a flurry of activity in the lab, including potions siphoning themselves into vials, a long assembly line of ingredients being cut up, and a sinister-looking red concoction boiling in the corner. Hermione takes it in with wide eyes. “I’ve got something for you.”

She comes closer to him, watching as he mixes together what looks like lotion in a little tub. “What is it?”

“May I?” he asks, reaching for her arm. It’s been chilly still, so Hermione has been wearing long sleeves. She always drags out her winter wardrobe, though. She dreads summers, when revealing more skin means showing her scars.

She offers her arm to him, watching as he gently rolls up her sleeve to the scar his aunt gave her. Then, with a delicate touch, he slathers some of the lotion on right over the scar. Hermione watches in awe as some of the jagged edges soften instantly. It looks smoother and clearer right away. “How?” She looks up at him, her mouth agape.

He looks almost sheepish. “I’ve been working on it for a while, actually. It’s a combination of ingredients from a Muggle anti-scarring treatment along with murtlap essence and a few proprietary things.” He runs his fingers over her scar. “Sorry it was necessary in the first place.”

“Draco,” she whispers, still staring in disbelief at her arm. “Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, and it only now occurs to Hermione how close they’re standing to one another.

She swallows and looks at his mouth for only a moment, but he definitely notices. Slowly, he leans down, waiting for her reaction. She breathes in with anticipation then lets it back out. As if sensing her hesitation, he rests his forehead against hers, rubbing the back of her neck with his thumb. 

“I don’t think we should,” she says quietly, remembering her conversation with Narcissa. She’s let herself get too comfortable, and she’s sworn to put an end to it. She still has a job to do. “Your mother—”

He pulls back, eyes flashing with anger. “My mother did what now?” His voice rises. “Did she have a little word with you? Maybe I should speak to her myself.”

She grabs his arm to keep him from walking away. “Draco, don’t. You know they hired me to find you a wife. She said nothing that wasn’t in her bounds.” 

“I don’t want—” he breaks off, pressing his mouth into a hard line and shaking his head. He shrugs off her grip and hands her the tub of lotion. “Twice a day until it’s gone.”

She starts to leave, fearing what she might do if she stays near him one more second. “Yes, Dr. Malfoy,” she quips as she leaves. It was supposed to be an attempt at humor, but she feels pretty humorless right now. 

* * *

The next day Hermione receives a letter from Dr. Winthrop. He has been doing some more work with her parents and is ready for her assistance. It should only take a few hours, and she already has permission for the international portkey. Her only concern is leaving Draco behind—if it were just him, she might consider bringing him along—but since Theo’s staying with them, it’s out of the question.

She tells him after breakfast.

Draco holds both her hands. After a moment of hesitation, she decides to allow it. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I would offer, but you’ve got Theo to look after.”

“Theo? I can knock him out with some  _ Dreamless Sleep _ and assign a couple house elves to keep watch.”

She scoffs, then stiffens, unnerved by the way he’s stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs. This is too intimate. “I’ll be fine.”

“Granger—” he starts before pulling her close and holding her, just like the last time she’d told him about her parents. “I’m going to talk with my mother,” he whispers in her ear.

And just like that, her walls crumble. 

“Draco, don’t.” She feels the tears pricking at her eyes. To let themselves give into—whatever it is between them is madness. Why is he making this so difficult?

“I’m sure I can reason with—”

“No!” She pushes him back, but instead of letting her go, he tugs her closer to him and covers her mouth with his.

The kiss is almost angry, the way he attacks her lips. She groans and opens to him, letting his tongue press inside her mouth as he physically pushes her back up against the wall. His arm is around her waist and his other hand beside her head, caging her in.

When he finally pulls back for air, he doesn’t let her go. He barely moves his face, nuzzling her nose with his and speaking so his breath ghosts over her lips. “Tell me you don’t feel anything for me, and I’ll let it go.”

Somehow, she finds her voice. “You knew what this was from the start, why I was here. There’s no future for us, Draco.”

“That’s  _ not _ what I asked.” He releases her just enough that she can straighten her clothing and wipe the moisture from underneath her eyes.

She shakes her head, too afraid to tell him what he wants to hear. Surely he already knows the answer. “It would never work.”

He takes a step back. “If that’s how you feel…”

Hermione lifts her chin. “It is.”

He walks away without a word.

* * *

The meeting in Australia goes well. Her parents are slowly starting to remember things, and Dr. Winthrop thinks it will be best if they move back to Britain to complete the process. When her parents ask about her love life, she comes up with something vague. She definitely does  _ not _ think about the platinum-haired wizard waiting for her return. She is taken off guard when her father hugs her before they leave, and cries a little bit on the way back.

All in all, it was a welcome break from what her life has become. She isn’t looking forward to returning to the Manor. She half expects to find Theo and Draco in the middle of a lavish party.

It’s far worse than that.

When she steps out of the fireplace, having traveled straight from the Ministry, Theo is pacing in front of her. He’s white as a ghost and trembling slightly. “Granger, thank Merlin you’re back.”

He grabs her hand. “What’s wrong? Where’s Draco?”

“It was an accident, I swear. We were only testing it, but maybe he took too much. Must be a bad batch, I don’t know.” He’s rambling, but she thinks she knows where he’s taking her.

“Theo!” she screams. “Where is he?”

“In the lab.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, she apparates them down there. Draco is sprawled out on the floor beside the cauldron with the red stuff she had seen a few days before. He’s convulsing slightly and there seems to be a pool of vomit around him.

Hermione drops Theo’s arm and rushes over to him. “Draco!” She bites down the panic that’s threatening to take over and calls on her inner Gryffindor. She’d done this hundreds of times with Harry and Ron in the forest. She whips out her wand and casts a simple diagnostic spell, but she can’t tell what’s wrong and quickly runs the gamut of her limited healing knowledge. 

She stares daggers at Theo. “Why didn’t you call someone? He needs to go to St. Mungo’s.”

“I—I was waiting for you. I thought if I brought him in, they might call my father.”

“Unbelievable,” she huffs. “I’m taking him now. I need you to come with me to explain what he’s taken.”

Theo hesitates, looking stricken. “But my father…”

“Theodore Nott, your best friend could  _ die. _ Get your bloody head out of your arse and come with me!”

Theo nods slowly, shaking off his shock, and marches over to hold onto her arm. 

It all goes by in a flash—getting Draco checked in, alerting the Malfoys, watching as Theo explains to the healers what happened. Hermione experiences it all in a daze, vacillating between heart-wrenching despair and disbelief. Throughout it all, her brain focuses on one thought:  _ is Draco going to be alright? _ She can’t even begin to process what will happen if—no, she can’t go down that road.

A woman healer in lime green robes comes over to speak to Hermione. “The potion that he took attacked his brain and nervous system. The damage was minimal, but we need to keep him sedated in order for the healing potions to work. He’ll probably need to be here for a couple days.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” Her heart pounds a rapid rhythm as she awaits the answer.

“Yes, you got him to us just in time. We will be able to reverse the damage.”

Hermione breathes a sigh of relief. “Can I see him now?”

The healer nods and leads the way. As soon as Hermione sees him underneath the crisp white sheet, all her defenses crumble. She rushes over to his side and pulls up the little chair. She reaches for his hand, interlocking their fingers. He feels so cold.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” she murmurs. He can’t hear her of course, but it feels good to talk to him, anyway. It reminds her that he’ll wake before long and be teasing her in no time. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to you, Draco. I—”  _ love you, _ her brain finishes for her.  _ I love you. _

Fuck.

She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until a tear splashes down onto the bed next to their hands. Then she hears a throat clearing from the doorway that makes her blood run cold.

Lucius Malfoy strolls into the room, his face a mask of cool impassivity. “Miss Granger? We need to talk.” 


	8. Can't Keep Living for the Damage

_ We need to talk. _ Regardless who is saying the phrase—a boss, a friend, a lover—it’s never a welcome one. Hermione tries to keep her wits about her as she follows Lucius out of Draco’s room and down the hall to a more secluded area. His gait is confident, despite his cane, and the further they walk in silence, the more nervous she becomes.

An apology is already on the tip of her tongue as he turns to her. “This is a most concerning turn of events, Miss Granger.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I—”

He holds up a gloved hand, looking down his nose at her. His face betrays no emotion whatsoever. That in itself is terrifying. “Do not interrupt until I’m done.”

Hermione quiets and tries her best not to dissolve into the floor.

“Theodore has already explained to us his involvement in this, and that you weren’t even aware that he was secretly staying in the Manor. It seems that he and my son were scheming behind your back as well.” He raises an eyebrow, as if waiting for her to contradict him.

Theo took the entirety of the blame. Hermione lets it sink in for a minute. Then she clears her throat. “Yes.”

“He begged us not to send him home to his father, so Narcissa and I checked him into the rehabilitation ward. In the meantime, I am completely astonished at how something of this magnitude could have escaped your notice. One of the reasons I hired you was because of your attention to detail. And yet, my son nearly died today.”

She sucks in a breath, feeling properly chastised. The deep ache in her chest compels her to return to Draco’s bedside, but she pushes it away. “I apologize profusely, Mr. Malfoy. I can assure you nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Lucius bends forward a little, leaning into her space. His eyes are cold, lighter than Draco’s and offering no mercy. “Good. Because this is your last chance, Miss Granger. The only reason I’m not sending you packing this instant is because we are nearing the finish line. My wife seems to think you’ve gone soft for our son. Regardless, you  _ will _ finish up your assignment, and Draco  _ will _ be engaged by his birthday. It seems you’ll also need to redouble your efforts on keeping him sober.” He straightens and waits for her response.

“Y-yes, sir. I promise you, he will make a speedy recovery from this and have a suitable fiancée by his birthday.”

“I expect no less. This ball Narcissa is planning will be the event of the year, apparently. We wouldn’t want to let her down.” He flexes his gloved hands and grips his cane tighter. “We will see you back at the Manor, I suppose.”

Hermione’s shoulders sag. “You’re not going in to see him?”

Lucius doesn’t even turn around. “I don’t see the point. They’re keeping him sedated for the time being, are they not?”

She watches in shock as he walks away. As soon as he’s out of eyesight, she rushes back to Draco’s beside and gathers his hand in hers. “I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so sorry.”

Hermione finally allows herself to cry. Her heart hurts over how callous Lucius acted towards his only son. She thinks about how she’s promised to trap Draco in a loveless marriage—how easily he could end up back here when she’s not around to keep an eye on him anymore. She mourns for the future they can’t have.

Eventually she falls asleep there.

* * *

“Granger?” 

Hermione’s eyes blink open slowly and she winces at the crick in her neck. She fell asleep with her head on Draco’s bed, but her body was still in the chair. He’s staring at her with cautious eyes. Their hands are still intertwined.

“Hey,” she mumbles somewhat sleepily. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

He softens and strokes her hand with his thumb. “Can’t keep me down long—did you sleep here?”

“Yes, I must have drifted off.” Her eyes start to water and she bites her lip to stop it trembling. “You really scared me, Draco.”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes widen as he realizes something. “It’s not what you think! I want to explain everything, but I need to see Theo first. Where is he?”

Hermione frowns. “Your parents checked him into a secure ward, presumably to get clean. He told them everything. And he took the blame.”

Draco nods slightly. “At least they didn’t send him back to his father.” His eyes rove over her and he lifts his hand to stroke her face. “I want to tell you what happened, but I’m feeling a little weak.”

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” She turns into his hand and kisses it.

He smiles and lets his hand fall back down to the bed as he nods off.

They release Draco the next day with orders to take it easy for at least a week. A month or two ago, she would have been annoyed that she had to play nurse. But she’s too relieved that he’s recovered and coming home to grumble about it. He takes her arm and lets her apparate them to the Manor.

“Let’s get you set up so you can rest,” she says, leading the way to his wing, his arm still in hers. “Would you prefer your bedroom or the sitting room?”

He removes himself from her grasp. “I’m not an invalid, Granger.” 

“No, but the Healers said for you to take it easy.” She continues to walk with him just a step behind, but he grabs her wrist.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Hermione’s breath hitches, but she nods. “Once you’re resting, we’ll chat. Bed or sofa?”

Draco sighs. “The sitting room is fine.”

She fusses over him almost as if he were a child, getting him set up with a blanket and summoning Wilt for tea. Only after he’s all settled does she take a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch. “You know, Draco, if you’re too tired, we don’t have t—”

“It wasn’t drugs, the potion. I wasn’t trying to get high,” he says flatly, interrupting her.

Hermione is taken aback. She watches him drum his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “What was it for, then?”

“I was experimenting with a potion that would alter memories. I thought if it could target painful ones and kind of…  _ dull _ them, there might be a market for that.” 

She blinks several times. “You—why?”

He buries his head in his hands. “If I’d had that in the first place—after the war—I might not have gotten so deep into the alcohol and drugs, yeah?”

“Draco…” she trails off as she moves to the couch beside him. She places a comforting hand on his back. 

He turns to her, his eyes glistening. “Maybe if I’d had it back then… and maybe if I’d had you, I wouldn’t have shagged everything that moved, either.”

He cups her cheek and then he’s kissing her and—she can’t stop him. She doesn’t want to. It feels like coming home. Her arms wind around his neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She feels her back hit the sofa cushions. His lips trail down her neck.

Then Wilt appears with a loud crack. “Tea is being served.”

Draco growls in frustration, and Hermione wipes at the moisture that has formed in the corner of her eyes as they right themselves. She swore to put an end to this, but here they were again. She waits until Wilt leaves before speaking again, feeling deeply ashamed of herself. “Draco, I promised your father I’d have you engaged by your birthday. So we can’t—”

His eyes flash with anger. “Is that what you want, Hermione? To do your job and be out of my life… forever?”

She inhales sharply as a tear rolls down her cheek. She’s not used to hearing her first name on his lips. “You know it’s not. But do  _ you _ want a life without your money, your power, your family?”

He just stares at her, his expression unreadable. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but the words never come.

“That’s what I thought,” she says as she stands to leave. She turns back at the door. “I’m really glad it wasn’t drugs, Draco. But please be more careful with your experiments in the future. Get some rest.”

He nods as she closes the door behind her.

* * *

There are three candidates for Draco’s future bride: Penelope Travers, Lavinia Burke, and Angelique Bisset, who had some uncertainty in the parentage of her great-grandmother but came highly recommended by the French Malfoy cousins. Hermione is half-heartedly rooting for Penelope, who seems the kindest of the bunch, but her heart clenches that she has to root for anyone at all. She sits at the desk in what has essentially become her office, drafting fancy luncheon invites to the three women. They will host each woman at the Manor next week for lunch. The following week is Draco’s big birthday bash, where he will presumably announce which one he has chosen to be his bride. Hermione thinks of how humiliating it must be to be a pure-blood girl, to be interviewed and inspected and appraised. Not to mention competing with other women for the favor of one man’s hand. It reminds her that she’s grateful for being Muggleborn. 

She hasn’t been eating much.

On a positive note, Draco is recovering nicely. He’s converted one of the Manor’s many rooms into a gym and has taken to working out in lieu of his other more destructive hobbies. Hermione has caught him on more than one occasion, and had to excuse herself before getting too flustered at his sweaty, bare muscles.  _ Is he trying to torture me?  _ she’d think.

She tries to steer clear of him as much as possible. Mostly because when she doesn’t, he looks like he wants to kiss her again… or worse. But it would be pointless to engage in anything physical, since it would have an expiration date and leave her with a broken heart. And potentially a destroyed reputation. 

“You’ve been avoiding me, Granger.” He corners her on Monday morning, as she’s making sure the garden is properly set up for the first of his luncheons.

“I haven’t. I’ve just—been busy, that’s all.” They’re in the sunroom, copious light filtering in despite the coverage of trees. Hermione feels warmer all of a sudden, despite having come from outside.

“Bollocks. You’re scared to be alone with me.”

“Nonsense.” She shakes her head and tries to walk past him, but he gets right in her path and redirects her to the wall, backing her up against it.

“Draco, please,” she stammers, her heart beating out a staccato rhythm.

He leans down until they’re centimeters apart and she can feel his hot breath on her skin. “Please what?”

“Penelope will be here soon.”

“What will it take for you to understand that I don’t give a fuck about any of those girls?”

Her mouth hardens into a line as she appraises him, all wild eyes and heaving chest. Irritation surges in her chest. She’s been doing better lately, managing to eat a bit more and staying focused on the task at hand. He has no right to mess with her head again. “And what do you expect me to do then? Run away with you? Where would we go? How would we live? How long could we survive off my savings before you start to resent me?” 

Draco growls in frustration, banging his head against the wall beside her. It’s then that Wilt pops in. “Miss Penelope Travers is here.”

“Thank you, Wilt,” Hermione says curtly. “I’ll go welcome her. You”—she motions to Draco with a dangerous glare—“make yourself presentable.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mocks.

* * *

She stares at her reflection in the full-length mirror. It’s definitely Hermione Granger staring back, but if she hadn’t watched herself apply the makeup and carefully style the hair—with a little help from Pippy—she wouldn’t recognize herself. She had gone earlier in the week to pick out a dress, which then had to be shown to Narcissa for approval. It’s a struggle to see why, since Hermione will be mostly a wallflower at this shindig anyway.

She feels a twist in her gut when she thinks about how the ladies vying for Draco’s hand will look. Angelique is arguably the prettiest, with her piles of blonde curls, but they each have their own allure. The plan is that Draco will ask his favorite for the first dance, and then his parents will know whom he’s chosen to be his bride. It makes her sick thinking about it, having to watch him strut around the ballroom with the future Mrs. Malfoy. She gulps down an anti-nausea potion just in case. 

She has tried her best to accept that this is their way of life, but a part of her wishes there were some way to prevent this. She knows what she  _ should _ do, but her mind can’t help but wander. What if she weren’t being paid to watch over Draco? What if he wasn’t beholden to his family legacy? Could they find a way to make it work? The past several months have flown by, and if she’s being honest with herself, it wasn’t all bad.

She loves him. Only she told him when he couldn’t hear, like a coward. And since then she’s been pushing him away out of duty. Her heart feels ready to break in two. She perches on the end of the bed and starts to cry.

“No! Miss mustn’t cry. Miss will mess up all Pippy’s hard work!” She jumps to find the little elf that Crookshanks has grown quite fond of staring at her and tugging on her ears.

“I’m sorry, Pippy.” She sniffles and conjures a handkerchief to dab at her face. “Can you help me fix it?”

Pippy helps her with the smeared makeup, and soon Hermione is scrutinizing her appearance once more. Her dress is understated—Narcissa specifically said nothing too bright or bold—so she went with navy. Her shoulders are exposed, but the sleeves are lace and long, the bodice modest and fitted trailing down into a slightly flared skirt. It’s really the perfect dress for fading into the background while still looking elegant. She stayed subtle for the makeup as well, combining a slightly smoky eye with a pale peach lip gloss. 

Ginny would be proud. Hermione hopes she and Harry got the invite she sent. After all, it is the event of the season, so the Malfoys wanted all the war heroes possible in attendance. It also probably means she’ll be seeing Ron and Pansy later as well. She groans at the realization. There better be no altercations this time.

Hermione makes her way down to the main ballroom—of course the Manor has more than one—just to see if any help is needed. Though she should’ve known that Wilt would have everything under control. Her jaw drops as she wanders in.

There are lights everywhere, floating overhead and up to the tall ceiling. No chandeliers are visible, just orbs of light giving off a very ethereal glow. Round tables have been set up around the perimeter for guests, but the middle of the room has been cleared for a dance floor that looks oddly like the lush grass carpeting a forest. Even the walls have been enchanted to look like a vast expanse of trees.

It’s so different from anything Hermione was expecting. It’s like stepping into a fairytale. In fact, she thinks an actual fairy might have just flown past her head.

“Miss likes?” Wilt stares up at her, his emerald suit jacket neatly pressed.

“Very much. You did an amazing job, Wilt.” 

He bows low before scurrying off to attend to something else.

* * *

Hermione busies herself with welcoming guests and making sure everything is in place. She feels like an event coordinator, even though Narcissa did most of the planning for the ball. Draco has been nowhere to be seen all evening, presumably still getting ready so he can be fashionably late to his own birthday party. His actual birthday isn’t until Sunday, but everyone knows Friday evening is the best time for a decadent soirée.

Quite a few people are already milling about, and Hermione leads the guests in groups to the ballroom while Narcissa stays in the foyer to air kiss everyone that comes in. She has just turned back for the next group when she comes face to face with Ron and Pansy.

“Good evening, Ron, Pansy. So thrilled you could make it.” She gives them her best hostess smile.

“Of course! We couldn’t miss Draco’s birthday.” She hates to admit it, but Pansy is a vision in gold. Her black hair has been curled into chunky ringlets that make her look like an old Hollywood starlet.

“You look lovely, ‘Mione,” Ron says, a bit sheepishly. He’s wearing nicer than usual dress robes, which she can only assume is Pansy’s influence.

“Thank you.” Hermione lowers her voice. “I do trust you’ll behave yourself tonight?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Yes, Pans has already given me the talk.”

“Good. I hope you both enjoy yourselves.” She finds that she means it.

Hermione takes a lap of the ballroom, making sure the guests are having their needs met. Everyone turns their heads when Draco appears at the entrance. She can barely breathe for a moment—her throat goes dry, and all she can see is him. He’s dressed in charcoal gray dress robes with silver brocade at the throat and sleeves. His hair is parted to the side and slicked back just enough to be elegant, but a small lock has fallen free in the front to hang over one eye.

They lock gazes. Her heart pounds.

Draco makes his way into the room, greeting his friends and guests. He shakes hands and air kisses the right people, but not once do his eyes leave Hermione’s. She feels herself heat under the weight of his stare, her décolletage pinkening as she flushes. She remains absolutely still at the back of the room as he slowly makes his way through the throng to her.

When he reaches her, he stands close but doesn’t lift a hand to touch her in any way. “Granger, you clean up nicely.”

The corners of her mouth tilt upwards. “I could say the same to you.”

He brushes past her, turning back to mingle with the new guests who just entered, but his fingertips glide along her waist. She feels his breath on the shell of her ear. “Save a dance for me.”

Hermione feels the warmth of his touch through her dress and watches his back as he walks away. Her skin feels too tight and there’s a slight throbbing between her legs. This is sheer torture. Her gaze slides over the crowd, singling out each of the three ladies Draco has to choose from. Penelope stands out in a bright turquoise dress with sensual cutouts, her dark hair left down in soft waves. Lavinia is draped in garnet, her caramel tresses in a sleek updo. And Angelique might as well have descended from the heavens in a flowy white gown with yards and yards of lace, her golden hair piled atop her head like a halo.

She might have to excuse herself to vomit.

Instead, Hermione does another lap of the room and tries to fade into the tapestry when Lucius and Narcissa enter, arm in arm. Lucius gives a brief speech about how honored he is to have Draco as a son— _ what a load of bollocks _ —and then the first course is brought out.

She finds herself seated at a table with Ron, Pansy, Harry, and Ginny. The latter couple had ducked in late, so she missed greeting them. Ginny gives her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “You look gorgeous, Hermione. I’m so proud you finally learned how to do your eyeliner.”

“Thanks, Gin.”

They eat their meals, passing the time with pleasant conversation. It makes Hermione glad to see how well Ron and Pansy get on as a couple. She thinks that they bring out the best in each other—whereas she and Ron did quite the opposite. Then at last, the dessert course is cleared. It’s time for the moment she’s been dreading all evening.

Narcissa rises from the head table and smiles serenely at all the guests. “If everyone will please stand, we will begin the first dance.”

Draco gets up and takes a stroll around the room. All three women are standing near to each other, having been seated at neighboring tables. They all look nervous, with the exception of Angelique, who has probably never been nervous a day in her life. He smiles as he passes all of them by and continues his stroll—

Over to her side of the room. She can barely process what’s happening as Draco stands in front of her, bowing before holding out his hand. “Hermione, may I have this dance?”

It’s quite possible that most of the attendees aren’t aware of the significance of this. No one is gasping or clutching their pearls. Narcissa remains stone-faced, but Hermione is sure she’s seething inside.

It takes several seconds for her to find her voice. She whispers, “Draco, what are you doing?”

He just pushes his open hand closer. “Asking my favorite girl to dance.”

Hermione hisses, “We shouldn’t. Everyone will—”

He lowers his voice, but interrupts all the same. “Please.”

She certainly can’t turn him down with everyone watching. She places her hand in his and a jolt of electricity runs through her body, especially as he wraps his other arm around her waist. The string quartet in the corner begins to play. His smile is wide and glorious—maybe the happiest she’s ever seen him. It makes her chest constrict. She tries to blink away the mistiness in her eyes. “Your parents are going to kill you.”

He smirks. “They can’t. It’s my birthday.”

He moves her fluidly around the dance floor, and she keeps up, her muscle memory kicking in from all those years ago at the Yule Ball “How do you know I’m not going to embarrass you out here?”

A subtle wink. “You know this dance, Granger.”

She does. And she finally relaxes into him as they waltz. It feels like flying as they move in tandem, their bodies so comfortable with each other. It makes her think of other things their bodies might be good at. 

Draco leans in, somehow sensing her arousal. “You look bloody fantastic in this dress. I’ve been imagining peeling it off of you all night.”

A little gasp leaves her lips as she imagines him doing just that. She wants it, so badly. But they can’t. “Draco, I’m not sure you know what you’re doing—”

He twirls her and brings her back. “Of course I do. I’m making a statement.”

The song ends and he bows again. She curtsies. And the weight of what they’ve just done comes crashing over her amidst the light applause. Her eyes widen as she thinks about his ‘statement’. If that’s why he asked her—to thumb his nose at his parents—she can’t handle it suddenly, and rushes toward the exit.

Hermione stumbles into the hall, chest heaving as she pulls off her heels and tries to catch her breath.

“Don’t run, Granger.” Draco is right behind her.

“What was that about?” Her voice is strained, and she’s about to cry. She doesn’t want to be used as a pawn in his family politics.

He swoops in, gathering her in his arms. “What do you think? Tell me now, Hermione. Forget about the job. Forget about my family. Forget the rest of the fucking world for a moment and tell me—what do you want?” He pulls back to look in her eyes, his thumbs tracing patterns on her cheeks.

She can’t. It’s too much. What about their obligations? She gave her word.  _ You can, _ a voice inside says. “I want you. Just you.” Her eyes close as he kisses her, and she’s so drunk on him, on his touch, that she almost doesn’t notice the pulling behind her navel as he apparates them away.

When Hermione opens her eyes, they are in a fancy hotel room. A Muggle hotel, from the looks of it. There’s champagne on ice and a dozen white roses in a vase on the table. And outside the window, the lights of London greet her. 

“Where are we?” she asks.

“The Corinthia London. I thought you might want to get away from everyone else.”

“When did you book this?” She looks around in wonder for a moment. 

He moves closer and runs his hands across her exposed shoulders from behind. His mouth teases her neck blazing a trail up to the shell of her ear. “As soon as my mother told me what would be happening at the ball.”

She closes her eyes as he kisses her fevered skin, marking her as his. He kisses her shoulder, his fingers playing with the zipper on her gown. “Let me love you, Hermione.”

She assumes he means  _ make _ love. She reaches backward to caress his cheek. “Yes, please.”

He groans and grabs her, pushing her front up against the glass of the window. She gasps from the cold. “I’m going to take my time with you. Going to fuck you all night long.”

Hermione shivers as he slides her zipper down, kissing each new inch of skin as it’s exposed. His pace is agonizingly slow, his fingers pressing on her spine and tracing over her as if to memorize the way she feels. Finally, he has the zipper undone and slides his hands underneath the material, bringing the dress down her body.

She helps with the sleeves and starts to freeze as she realizes she isn’t wearing a bra—she couldn’t with this dress. His palms run up and down her bare back. “Turn around, love. Let me see you.”

She turns, her gown falling to the floor as she steps out of it. She’s left in her lacy black knickers, and her insides flutter when she sees Draco’s gaze, dark and hungry. He swoops in and gathers her close, kissing her furiously. She melts under his touch and moans when he sucks a bruise into her neck.

“You’re perfect. Every inch of you. Merlin, your tits.” He’s nearly babbling now, taking her breasts in hand and massaging them. “Never wanted anyone this badly.  _ Never. _ ”

Her hands are tangled in his hair as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. She whimpers from the feel of his tongue against her sensitive bud. “Me either. Fuck, you have no idea.”

Draco releases her with a grin. “I love your dirty mouth, Granger.” He kisses down her torso and fingers the waistband of her knickers. “Wanna taste you.”

She nods, but then he surprises her by picking her up and carrying her to the bed. Hermione finally lets go and giggles as her bum hits the mattress. She’s not sure what will happen after this, but she’s tired of fighting it. He kneels before her like a servant before his queen and starts to tug her knickers down. “Draco, wait—”

His brows raise. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just—I definitely want to do everything with you, but you should know that technically… well, I haven’t actually—”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin, Hermione?” The shock in his voice sounds almost angry. “Weasley really  _ is _ an idiot, isn’t he?”

“It just never felt right with him. We did other things, but you’ll be my first.”

Draco’s head lowers for a moment and when he looks her in the eye again, his expression is nothing less than reverent. “I promise to make it good for you,  _ ma belle _ .”

“I trust you.”

He kisses her knee in response. Gently he works his way up her thigh and mouths her core over her underwear first. Then he resumes pulling them down. He spreads her legs wider and pulls her to the edge of the bed so he can get a better look. One of his fingers traces her labia and Hermione makes a needy sound in her throat. “Fuck. Granger, you’re soaked. Practically dripping for me.”

“I’ve wanted you for so long. You probably don’t even remember; you were so drunk—”

“Our first kiss? Of course I remember.” Then his mouth is on her and she loses all coherent thought.

Draco is  _ really _ good at this. He runs his tongue through her folds like she’s his favorite treat, letting it swirl several times around her clit before he sucks hard. She moans and her hips buck up against his mouth of their own accord. Her fingers twist in the comforter. “Oh god.”

He smiles against her. “You taste divine. Just like I remember. When I caught you touching yourself. I wanted it to be you then. I was always thinking about you.”

She doesn’t get a chance to respond before he’s licking her again. He slips a finger into her opening, and the noise she makes is inhuman. His fingers are so long and slightly thicker than her own. He pumps her several times before adding a second and the  _ noises _ —she’d be embarrassed by the sound if it didn’t feel so bloody amazing.

He crooks them up just so, reaching that textured spot inside that has the tension coiling tight in her belly, tingles creeping down her spine. She feels like she might explode. His tongue traces delicious patterns on her clit and she’s already so keyed up, she’s on the verge.

“Draco, I—”

“Come for me, Hermione.” He plunges his fingers deep and sucks  _ hard _ . Her orgasm crashes over her with an intensity she didn’t know she was capable of. 

Her hips buck up and she’s trembling all over, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, even as her eyes water. He keeps licking her through it, moving his hand to her abdomen to steady her as she continues to rock her hips upward. “Fuck, fuck,” she repeats.

Draco looks up from between her thighs and smiles, his mouth glistening with her. “You okay, Granger?”

“Yeah,” she waves her hand. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

“Good.  _ Good. _ Because we’re just getting started.” He stands and rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. Like he means business.

Hermione laughs. What has she gotten herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to raven_maiden! 
> 
> Hermione's [dress inspiration](http://honeydress.bigcartel.com/product/navy-blue-off-the-shoulder-long-sleeve-formal-evening-gown-mermaid-prom-dress).
> 
> We are in the home stretch here, folks. Hope you're all staying safe and sane. I'm not going to lie, writing has been more difficult for me during quarantine. I'm still hoping to make the next update May 24th. I haven't had a chance to respond to each comment, but thank you so much for leaving them! I love and appreciate each one. ❤️


	9. Give Me Your All and Nothing Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter is here! Thanks to everyone for taking this ride with me. I have appreciated every single comment. Just one more chapter to go. This one is mostly filth with a dash of feels. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, many thanks to raven_maiden. We'll be back here again in two weeks with the final installment. <3

Draco stills at Hermione’s laughter. He looks so serious in his fancy clothes and stern grin. It’s painfully sexy. “You think this is a game, Granger?” 

She props herself up on her elbows, completely nude and breasts still heaving trying to catch her breath. “No, sir.” A thrill runs through her at her playful use of the title. She isn’t sure where it came from, but she’s running with it. 

He smirks as he leans forward to grab her chin. “Good. Because it’s not. I’ve wanted you for so long, and I have so many plans for you tonight. Merlin, the things I’ve been imagining…” He trails off as he covers her mouth with his, and she’s completely lost.

Hermione has never been kissed like this—like the act itself is something sacred, like there’s no need to move any further, even though she knows they will. Draco kisses her without rushing, his tongue dancing lazily against hers like they have all the time in the world. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down on top of her so his clothed body is covering her naked one. It’s nice, but she wants to feel his skin, needs him to feel how she burns for him.

“Please,” she whispers, tugging at his shirt.

“Be a good girl for me, Hermione. I want to make this last.” He nuzzles her gently before sucking on her earlobe and moving his lips down her neck, sucking a bruise into her collarbone. It’s the most glorious kind of torture, the way his tongue laves over her nipple before sucking her into his mouth. She feels utterly worshipped, the way he attends to each breast in turn, sending tingles down her spine and making her squirm, feeling the stickiness between her thighs. It feels empty inside, and she needs him to take care of that  _ now. _

“Need you,” she murmurs.

“You have me,” he breathes against her abdomen.

“Need your cock, Draco. I want to feel you.” Her arms reach for him, pulling him back up as she starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. 

“Impatient little minx.” He chuckles as he sits up, legs on either side of her, and takes off his shirt. 

She reaches for him immediately, running her hands over his pale skin. He has defined abs now that he’s been working out, and she groans as she feels just how fit he’s gotten. “You’re like a marble statue.”

“Not quite, but coming from a sun goddess, I’ll take it.” His lips widen into a grin as he leans forward again, watching her feel him up. 

Her fingertips skate over the little scars on his chest and she brushes her lips over each one, landing one last kiss over his heart. She couldn’t love him more if she tried. Then her head falls against the pillow, back arching up. His wandering hands have found her clit again and she’s just calmed down enough from her last orgasm that she’s easily keyed up again.

“Draco,” she practically whines as he plunges his fingers into her again. She’ll never be tired of his touch.

“You’re so wet, love—but I think you can give me one more before I take you.”

She shakes her head, unused to being taken care of so well. Her cheeks flush as he swirls his thumb around her clit. “I don’t know.” She bites her lip.

“Fuck, I love it when you do that. You can, and you will.” He crooks his fingers up, stroking her g-spot, and Hermione swears she sees stars.

“Yes—yes, right there.” Her hips are moving again, legs widening to give him better access. His fingers are so long, and he knows exactly what to do with them.

His thumb presses down on her sensitive bundle of nerves hard and she gasps as she comes sharply, the waves of pleasure making her legs spasm. “Good girl,” he croons, moving his hand to her outer lips and holding it there as the shudders rock her body. “Now you’re ready for me I think.”

Draco leaves her only momentarily to strip his trousers off, but she watches through a haze of blissed out lust. He’s just so bloody attractive—it’s like she can’t get enough of him. If this is what getting high is like, perhaps she finally understands. She never wants this feeling to end.

Her eyes widen a bit as he approaches. Ron was by no means small, but she definitely hadn’t expected Draco to be this  _ well endowed _ . Suddenly his insistence on preparing her makes sense. She quirks her eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn’t use  _ Engorgio _ ?”

He laughs, a full-bodied, beautiful laugh. Her heart soars. “You flatter me.” He crawls over her in the most alluring fashion and she can’t decide where to look—his toned arms, his sculpted chest and abs, or his ridiculously large erection. Then he stops, a quizzical look in his grey eyes. “Wait, does that mean I’m bigger than Weasley?”

Hermione giggles and kisses him. “Yes, but don’t let it go to your head. Your ego is also larger.”

“Swot,” he teases before nipping her jaw playfully. He kisses her breathless before pulling back. “Ready, Granger?”

She smirks. “Would you just fuck me already?”

“As you wish,” he says, descending to kiss the smirk off her lips.

There’s a heated sensation through her abdomen, and she realizes he’s cast a contraceptive charm. Then he’s spreading her legs wider, lining himself up, and— _ oh. _ Just the head of him breaching her entrance is enough to send pleasant shivers down her spine. She moans.

“Okay?”

“Yes, keep going.”

“Your cunt is a dream,” he grunts as he slides forward more. “So wet and warm and tight.”

It pinches just a little as he fully sheaths himself inside her, but the discomfort quickly gives way to absolute fullness and pleasure. Her mouth falls open in wonder and she closes her eyes. The stretch to accommodate him is delicious. She taps his arm. “You can move now.”

It surprises her slightly when Draco’s lips brush her ear. “Give me a minute. I want to remember this moment forever.” 

He makes one of the sexiest noises she’s ever heard before he pulls his hips back and gives an experimental thrust. And  _ fuck, _ it’s incredible. The friction, the heat, the sound. She’s glad that he’s the one she gets to experience this with for the first time. Even if she now hates everyone who’s come before her—she starts to wonder how she compares.

“Stop that,” he grunts as he picks up the pace, making her arch into him. “You promised you’d be a good girl.”

Every time he says that phrase, her arousal spikes. It’s like getting top marks back in school, and she relishes his praise. “What?” she asks coyly.

“You’re thinking too much. Just let go.” He kisses her again as he hits her particularly deep, making her gasp into his mouth. He refuses to let up, moving his thumb back to her clit to stroke her in tandem with his cock driving into her. “Should’ve been you, all this time. Always.”

_ He’s talking nonsense, _ she thinks. Even if a subtle voice in the back of her head counters,  _ He’s right. _ But he’s hitting her so good and deep that she soon loses all coherent thought. “Draco,” she moans, as the tension inside her pulls taut, ready to snap.

He pulls out for a second and she whimpers, mourning the loss immediately. She watches in a daze as he pulls one of her legs up higher, knee to her chest and enters her again, pushing himself even deeper inside. “Fuck, Hermione. You’re so tight. So good. Such a good girl.” He groans.

She has no more words, each drag of his cock against her inner walls driving her closer and closer to the edge. When he moves his finger back to her clit, she’s done for, she can feel it. “I’m gonna—”

He turns her head. “Look at me. I want to look in your eyes when you come, love.” 

His fierce grey gaze watches as she crashes into euphoria, her muscles clenching him tightly while he fucks her through it. He lets loose a string of expletives and grips her leg hard as he thrusts one, two, three more times and pumps her full of his spend, covering her mouth with his again as he comes. After, his eyes flutter open and he tenderly wipes the sweat-soaked tendrils of hair back from her face. Then he pulls out and collapses on the bed next to her. 

“Don’t go anywhere, Granger. I’m not done with you yet.”

Little pulses of pleasure are still rippling through her and she squeezes her thighs together, luxuriating in the feeling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

He pulls her close and they snooze for a little bit, enjoying being able to hold each other without pretense. When Hermione wakes, it’s not quite midnight. She’s sticky and a little hungry—she hadn’t eaten much at the party, which feels like a lifetime ago now.

“I think room service hasn’t cut off yet. Shall I order us something to go with the champagne?”

She smiles at Draco over her naked shoulder, the sheet draped carefully over his groin. It’s like he can read her mind, and she realizes that no one else has known her so well, not even Harry. “That sounds good. I’m going to shower.”

He smirks. “I’ll come join you after I call.”

She really means to just shower and she’s nearly finished lathering up by the time Draco slithers in behind her, his greedy hands creeping across her soapy skin. “You’re completely ruining my intentions to get clean.”

“Don’t worry, we don’t have much time—besides, shower sex is too dangerous. I attempted it once and let’s just say it wasn’t worth the Skele-Gro the following day.”

Hermione laughs until he kisses her quiet. Then he spins her around to face the tile. “But I bet I can make you come before room service arrives.”

Somehow she finds herself with her hands slapping the tile, his fingers deep in her cunt, and his erection pressed up against her arse, screaming his name under the spray of water all before the buzzer rings. She leaves the shower on jelly legs, wrapping herself in one of the hotel’s plush robes.

Draco ordered an assortment of fresh fruit and pastries to munch on while they sip champagne. It’s honestly the fanciest Hermione has felt in a long time, and she relaxes into the plush terry cloth robe as he dangles a strawberry above her lips. 

He wears a wicked grin. “Be a good girl and take a big bite.”

She laughs as she does so and a bit of the juice dribbles down her chin. But he just pulls her towards him and licks a hot stripe up her neck and chin till he meets her mouth. The taste of the fruit and champagne on his tongue drives her wild and soon her hands are tangled in his hair and he’s moving her onto his lap to continue kissing her.

Eventually she has to breathe and when she pulls back she looks into his lust-blown eyes. “I like it when you call me good girl.”

“I know. Why do you think I’m doing it, Granger?”

She grinds against him, feeling how hard he is even through the thick material of the hotel robe. She nibbles his bottom lip. “You know,” she whispers. “We never got  _ you _ off in the shower. Don’t you think that we should remedy that?”

Hermione balances herself on his lap, while untying the knot at his waist. They both couldn’t be bothered to put real clothes back on and have been enjoying the room’s amenities. She slips the robe off his shoulders and starts kissing him there.

“I’ve created a monster, haven’t I? A horny monster.”

She smacks his chest. “Do you want to fuck or not?”

He chuckles. “Please, Miss Granger, I’ll be good.”

She rewards him with a tweak to his nipple. “That’s what I thought.”

It takes her a little bit of effort, but soon she’s opened up her robe, too, straddling him carefully on the chair as she runs her folds up and down his length. His leaking tip hits her right where she wants it, and she lets out a pleasured gasp.

Draco groans and digs his fingers into her hips. “Soaked again already?”

“I’m always wet for you,  _ Master Draco _ .” She winks, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Fuck,” he curses as she positions herself and sinks down onto his cock.

It’s awkward from this angle, and she doesn’t quite know what she’s doing but oh the places he’s hitting her—it’s so different from before. She heaves a low, lengthy sigh before giving her hips an experimental roll. He barely slides out, but it feels wonderful, so she does it again.

Before long, she’s built up a nice rhythm, her hands on his shoulders, bobbing up and down his length. There’s a soreness in her thighs and bum, but the tingles down her spine tell her it will be worth it.

“I imagined this so many times,” he murmurs. “Your tits bouncing as you ride my cock. It’s even better than I imagined. You’re perfect, Hermione.” 

One of his hands leaves her hip to squeeze her breast as she rides him. Amazingly, it’s just the stimulus she needs and she’s coming again, fingers digging into his skin as euphoria overtakes her.

He lets her come down from the high before lifting her off his lap, vanishing everything from the table and bending her over it, reentering her from behind. Her tits are pressed up against the flat surface as he fucks her, hands bruising on her hips and balls hitting her arse. It’s rough and hard, but she finds she enjoys it this way, too.

“You like it, Granger? You like the way my cock splits you in two?”

“Yes!” she cries, fingers grappling for the edge of the table.

He pulls her back from the edge just a bit, widening her stance as his fingers reach around her front to find her clit. Then he’s back to forceful thrusts, and she feels almost oversensitive, her nipples rubbing on the wood of the table while the pads of his fingers strum her clit like a musical instrument.

“Can you give me one more? I think you can.”

Tears of exertion escape her eyes as she nods. “Yes—so close.”

“Good girl.” Those words send her over the edge again, and she can feel it as he follows her into bliss, his cock pulsing inside her as he spills his seed. It’s intense, and Hermione is exhausted after, when he pulls out and casts a cleansing charm for the fluids running down her thighs.

Then he picks her up like a bride and carries her back to the bed. She falls asleep almost instantly, Draco’s arms wrapped around her tightly. Before she passes out, she thinks even if this is all they get to have, it was worth it. The best night of her life.

* * *

Hermione wakes to a bright shaft of light streaming in between the thick curtains. It takes her a moment to realize where she is—and who she’s with. But there’s no mistaking when she turns over that Draco is lying beside her, fast asleep. There’s no mistaking the soreness between her legs, either. He looks almost innocent, the light illuminating his platinum hair and giving him a sort of halo, even though last night was anything but. A blush coats her cheeks as she remembers all the things they did in this room, all the ways he made her come.

She becomes even more embarrassed as she thinks about all the people they left at the party, wondering if they all assume this is what they’ve been doing all night. Shame washes over her. She’s completely betrayed her employer—the Malfoys could make her return the money. And Draco—what will happen to him without the inheritance? She starts to panic.

Hermione grabs her wand and transfigures her fancy gown into something more appropriate for the streets of London. Then she morphs her heels into trainers and slips them on. She needs to get out of this room. She needs to think. How could she have fucked things up so badly?

The door clicks shut behind her and she takes the lift down to the lobby, racing out into the chilly morning air. She takes off down the street, her pace picking up as she realizes that tears are falling down her cheeks. What has she done?

Mindlessly, she keeps walking until she sees the Thames come into view. Once she gets to the water, she’ll calm down.

“Hermione!” she hears her name amidst the crowd of pedestrians, but doesn’t turn around.

She can’t help but break into a run to the river.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ . They shouldn’t have done that. She had promised herself she wouldn’t shag him, and now it’s going to be that much harder to let him go. She ignores his pleas, but collides with the railing and can go no further unless she plans on jumping into the Thames.

She heaves in giant gulps of air and wipes at her tears, watching the constant movement of the London Eye to calm down. By the time Draco reaches her, she hopes most of the evidence is gone.

He looks almost haggard, his eyes wide with concern. “Why did you run from me? Were you planning on leaving?”

She swallows thickly. “I can’t do this.”

His face falls, his stormy grey eyes picking up just a hint of blue from the reflection of the water. Then he settles into anger. “Oh no? Why not? You didn’t seem to protest last night.”

Hermione shakes her head. “Because! We’ve mucked it all up. Your parents paid me to do a job, and I’ve  _ failed. _ You were supposed to choose a girl to be your bride last night, not run off with the bloody help! Maybe if we go back and apologize, you can still make things right. I’m sure Penelope would be amenable to—”

He advances towards her and grabs her arms that she’d just been gesticulating with. “Stop it, Hermione.” His voice is forceful and authoritative.

She quiets instantly.

Draco doesn’t let her say anything else, instead pulling her close and closing the gap between them, his lips covering hers. His one hand wraps around the back of her neck, the other grips her waist until she’s flush with his body, her mouth opening to let him in. They kiss for minutes, maybe hours—Hermione just knows she is breathless by the time he lets her go, looking into her eyes like he might drown there.

His gaze is reverent and so, so loving. “What gave you the impression that I want to marry anyone but you?”

Her heart beats faster. “I—I just thought—”

“You’re right. I was supposed to choose the woman I want to be with last night, and I  _ did. _ It’s you, you daft bint.”

She sniffles. “Oh.”

He laughs then, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “‘Oh’ is right. I don’t know how it slipped the notice of the brightest witch of our age, but I am so in love with you, Hermione. I don’t want to marry some pre-screened witch from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. I want you.”

“But your inheritance—”

He throws up his hands. “I don’t give a fuck about the money! We can live in the Shrieking Shack for all I care. Just tell me you feel the same way. Tell me I didn’t just throw it all away for nothing.”

She feels tears threaten at the corner of her eyes again. “I do. Oh, Draco, I love you so much. I have for a while now.”

He kisses her again, and she melts into his arms, the sun rising higher above the Thames. A passerby whistles at them, but they pay him no mind, happy to finally be on the same page. She’s not sure what comes next, or what the fallout will be, but she knows they’ll face it together. He loves her, and that’s all that matters.

“What do we do now?”

“You mean the great Hermione Granger doesn’t have a plan?”

“I have loads of plans, Draco. I just never counted on this chain of events.”

“Well, how about this, then? You and I go get some breakfast. Then we brainstorm together.”

She smiles, and he slides his arm around her as they start walking. “That sounds perfect.”


	10. I Like Me Better When I’m With You

“Draco, come on, we’re going to be late!” Hermione slips on her second earring as she rushes around the flat. When it was just her and Crooks, it admittedly seemed like plenty of space, but now that Draco has moved in, it feels just a little cramped—though that’s probably from all his potions ingredients taking up space in her kitchen.

“I’ve been ready, love. I was waiting for you.” He emerges from the bedroom and slips his arms around her waist, kissing the nape of her neck. 

“If you start that up, we’re definitely going to miss our appointments.”

He hums against her skin. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, I would! I’ve been pretty close to a breakthrough, I think.” 

Draco rolls his eyes and takes her arm before grabbing the Floo powder. She knows he still doesn’t put much stock in mind healers, but he’s been going for her. Honestly, she can see the difference in him, but she knows he’d never admit it.

They do this once a week—travel to the mind healer’s office, where they each have an appointment with a different counselor, then follow it up with a leisurely lunch in Muggle London. It’s been nice so far, but Hermione can’t help feeling like they’re both still holding something back from each other.

“Have you had any nightmares lately?” It’s the first question Healer Greene asks her. Tabitha Greene is a wonderful Muggleborn mind healer who specializes in what Muggles call Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

“No. Not in a long time. Sleeping next to Draco has done wonders for my quality of rest.” She smiles then because it’s true—they keep each other’s demons at bay.

“Wonderful. Have you told him yet the full story of why you were terminated from employment?”

She winces. “Not yet, but soon.” This is one of the things she’s agreed to work on with Healer Greene. It wasn’t just that a protestor was charging at her werewolf friend, Byron. It was that the person in question bore a striking resemblance to Dolohov. Hermione panicked and fired a stunning spell at him. It missed its mark, but in the process both the protestor and an Auror were injured. They both spent several days in St. Mungo’s.

Healer Greene smiles and writes something down on the parchment attached to her clipboard. “Any news from Dr. Winthrop?”

“Yes, actually. My parents are back in Britain, and I’m scheduled to meet with them later this month. He’s hopeful that their memories are starting to return.”

“That’s great news, Hermione.”

Hermione smiles. Things really are looking up. “I’m planning to approach Draco about meeting with his parents.”

Healer Greene smirks a little. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I’m going to bring it up at lunch today. I mean, it’s been two months of complete silence on both ends. This has to stop.”

“Remember to be patient, though. Pure-blood families work differently.”

“I know. It’s just—he’d never admit this—but I think he misses them. Or his mother at least. Though he’s done surprisingly well without the money and house elves.”

“Yes, well, love is a great motivator.”

Hermione blushes.

* * *

She plans to introduce Draco to sushi one day, but today is not that day. Today she has a difficult subject to broach with him. So she’s chosen his favorite Italian place. They went here on their first real date, a few nights after they ran away together from his birthday party. They rarely eat at wizarding establishments these days—when you become the subject of a widely-publicized scandal, it’s hard to maintain privacy.

She orders a bottle of red, which she knows he prefers, and peruses the offerings. Draco peers at her from behind his menu and quirks an eyebrow. “Alright—out with it, Granger.”

She feigns innocence, bringing a hand to her clavicle. “What?”

“You brought me to my favorite restaurant and ordered my favorite wine. You’ve also been notably less swotty today, so what’s going on?” He drums his fingers on the table and her eyes flicker to the motion. His hands are so sexy, but they look different ever since he stopped wearing his family crest ring.

Hermione plays with her napkin underneath the table. She needs to just say it. “I’ve been thinking… youshouldreallytalktoyourparents.” 

Draco just gives her a pointed look. “Want to try that again?”

Blushing, she takes a deep breath. “I think you should talk to your parents. I can go with you if you like.”

He stills as the waiter comes over and fills their wine glasses. When he’s left the table, Draco frowns a bit. “I don’t need them, or their money. You have enough to secure the property we looked at.”

“Yes, but how long before we start turning a profit? New businesses usually struggle for the first year or so.”

He waves her off as the waiter comes back with a basket of bread. “We’ll be fine.”

They order food—carbonara for her and lasagna for him—and Hermione puts on her stern face. “What if I told you I had a plan?”

Draco smirks and reaches across the table for her hand. “Okay, I’m listening.”

* * *

Hermione is dusting and trying to tidy up the flat when the fireplace roars to life. She turns to see Theo step inside their living room and strut over to her, planting a kiss on her cheek. Draco looks up from his chair where he’s currently reading. “Nott! What did we say about boundaries?”

“Right. Got a bit carried away. Can’t keep her all to yourself, Draco.” He throws a wink at Hermione, who promptly rolls her eyes at him.

Draco growls as he rises out of the chair and comes to wrap his arms around Hermione. She sighs, really only mildly annoyed by their antics. It’s been like this ever since Theo got out of rehab. “I can and I will. So keep your bloody mitts to yourself.”

Theo just laughs as he pulls something out of his pocket. “Liquorice wand, anyone?” When Hermione and Draco both decline, he shrugs and takes a big bite. “More for me, then.” Now that he’s off the potions, he’s constantly snacking. He’s filled out a little, but she thinks it looks good on him—not that she’d ever tell him that, lest his head inflate to fill the whole room.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Draco asks dryly, his arms still around Hermione as she struggles to dust the bookshelf.

“Draco, will you let go of me?” She feels him shaking his head from behind her, and she huffs. “I promise not to abscond with Theo.”

“Never say never, darling,” Theo quips, taking another bite of his liquorice.

Draco releases her from his hold and she gives up on the dusting, settling down in the chair Draco just vacated. “Theo, you have to stop coming over unannounced.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because.” She crosses her arms as he lifts a brow. “If you really must know, Draco and I were up to some questionable acts in the kitchen earlier, and you could’ve walked right in.”

“Pity I didn’t come sooner, then. Anyway, I’m here because I have some important news for you both.”

Draco walks over to rest on the arm of the chair. “Out with it, Nott.”

“You know that ridiculously priced property you two were looking at in Diagon?”

Hermione scrunches her nose, remembering her lunch conversation with Draco the other day. “Yes, the one we absolutely cannot afford unless Draco makes up with his parents?” She shoots him a look.

Theo smirks. “Well, I’ve found something even better. Cheaper, too.”

Draco perks up a little. “Really?”

Theo finishes his candy and licks his fingers. “Indeed. Come along.” He holds out his arm and they both stare at him. “Well, you’ll have to side-along since you’ve never been, won’t you?”

Hermione raises her eyebrow and points to the sink. “Wash your hands first.”

After a thorough handwashing, they find themselves outside a dilapidated little warehouse on the outskirts of a sleepy little Muggle neighborhood. Draco surveys the area. “Theo, this place is a dump. And it’s not even near any wizarding establishments.”

“Yes, but it’s so cheap!” When Hermione and Draco both look at him skeptically, he starts to pace and gesticulate. “Okay, hear me out. We could make this whole area into a  _ new _ wizarding neighborhood. Little by little. Look at all the space! And this entire lot is less than half the price of that place in Diagon. I did the conversions myself.”

Impressed that Theo has done the work of converting pounds to Galleons, Hermione looks around. He has a point—it’s quite a bit of land. She could easily see several more shops and restaurants in the area, like a newer, more modern Diagon. “You know… I can see it.”

“You think so, Granger?” Draco looks quizzical, but starts to walk up and down the lane, checking out the available land. “Well, I guess magic can do anything, right?”

She smiles. “Let’s look into it.”

Theo practically beams, puffing his chest out a bit as he pulls out a hard candy and pops it in his mouth.

* * *

“I still think this is a mistake, Granger.” Draco releases a nervous breath as Hermione goes to straighten his tie.

“Hush. Your mother was very gracious in her letter. We are going to have a nice lunch with your parents, and we are going to keep it civil. And then we’re going to ask them for money.” He groans as she lovingly pats his cheek. She’s put on a brand new dress for the occasion, red and extravagant—clearly a power move.

Draco hasn’t touched one Galleon of Malfoy money since leaving with Hermione the night of his party. The only thing he did do was have a house elf bring both his and Hermione’s belongings to her flat. So she understands why he’s nervous. But if all goes according to plan, he can at least have his parents back in his life. Or they’ll know where they stand, once and for all.

She knows he hasn’t actually tested to see if the wards have been adjusted, but they apparate to just outside the Manor grounds anyway, out of respect. They want to be seen walking up the path and be greeted at the door like guests. Hermione stops him when they’re just inside the gates. “Hey, no matter what happens today, I love you and everything will be fine.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Granger. I needed to hear that.” He leans in and gives her a chaste peck on the lips. “I love you, too.”

Wilt opens the door before they can even raise a hand to knock. He bows low. “Master Draco, Mistress Hermione, so good to be having you back.”

“Thank you, Wilt,” Hermione says as they head inside. 

“The Master and Mistress is waiting in the dining room.” He leads the way, even though they both already know where it is.

“Mother, Father,” Draco greets them coolly. 

Lucius tips his head in a nod. “Draco.”

Narcissa, on the other hand, rushes over and wraps him in a hug. “Draco, it’s so good to see you.” She pulls back to look at him. “You look well.”

“Yes, as it turns out, living with the woman I love quite agrees with me.”

Narcissa frowns slightly as she moves to sit. “Lunch first, talking after?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hermione says, letting their lack of greeting roll off her shoulders. She takes a seat beside Draco, her chin pointed in the air. He squeezes her thigh beneath the table.

They press on through a truly fabulous lunch—roasted guinea fowl with fingerling potatoes and watercress salad—with easy superficial conversation.  _ Hasn’t the weather been particularly mild this summer? _ And yes,  _ Minister Shacklebolt’s new facial hair is quite complimentary. _ Hermione strains to keep her senses sharp for what will surely come after.

Once they finish eating and the plates are cleared, Narcissa clears her throat. “Shall we move to the parlor for tea?”

The mood is solemn as everyone nods and moves to the parlor several rooms away. Hermione takes a seat next to Draco on the settee, then threads their fingers together as a show of solidarity. She knows for his parents to listen, he will have to do the majority of the talking. But she wants them to show a united front.

Draco smooths his hands over his trousers for a moment. “Right. So first, I wanted to apologize for the way I just left during my own party. I know I caused a scene, and you were probably mortified.”

“To put it mildly,” Narcissa said.

“Be that as it may,” Draco continued. “You both refused to listen to my wishes about treating Hermione as a realistic option, even after I told you I was in love with her.”

Lucius scoffed. “As if you knew what true love was. Just because you’re sleeping with someone—”

“We had never slept together before that night!” His voice raises, and she squeezes his hand gently to calm him.

Hermione watches as Lucius and Narcissa share a look between them that she interprets to mean they hadn’t considered this before. Though they knew of their son’s penchant for debauchery, it’s almost as though they chose to believe he’d been led astray by her feminine wiles—as if she even knew how to wield them. She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

When Narcissa speaks, her voice is notably softer. “We had assumed otherwise.”

“Of course you did because it suited your narrative. I’m sure you’d love to paint my girlfriend as some Muggleborn harlot who infiltrated your pure-blood family, swindled your money away, and stole your son as well. Even though  _ you _ were the ones who hired her exactly because of her good qualities, which I was naturally drawn to.”

To their credit, Lucius and Narcissa both look slightly guilty.

He starts to stroke the skin of her hand with his thumb. “And in reality, all she ever did was show actual concern for me and save my life in the process. I knew I loved her not one month into her employment. Any progress I achieved was because I was trying to be a better man—for her.”

Hermione gasps, unaware that his feelings started so soon. She wants to ask,  _ then why were you such a prat for so long? _ But she knows that’s a conversation for another time.

“So why did you come today?” Narcissa asks.

Draco sighs. “Honestly, because you are my family, and I want you to be a part of my life—our life—going forward. But I don’t need or want the inheritance, especially if you still disapprove of our relationship.”

“Well, then,” Lucius says. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.” He sounds dismissive, and it boils Hermione’s blood.

“However,” Draco adds. “Hermione and I are planning on opening up our own business soon. We’ve secured property and will begin building shortly. It’s going to be a potions shop that specializes in treating addiction and other maladies. We’ve already alerted Rita Skeeter about it, and she’ll be there to cover our opening. It would be nice if she could include in her article how you’ve supported us… instead of how I’ve been tragically disowned for falling in love with a war hero. Not exactly the kind of story that would further your reputation of being fully rehabilitated.”

Hermione resists the urge to smirk. She’s so proud of him at this moment.

Lucius’ mouth presses into a thin line. “What do you want, then?”

Draco shrugs, clearly feeling his impending victory. “Just a small business loan, might even consider it a write-off for Malfoy Enterprises. Would look good for your image, wouldn’t it, Father?”

There’s a long pause. “Yes I suppose it would,” he finally admits. “Fine. Draft something official with your business plan and let me know how much you need. We can meet during the week at my office to discuss details.”

“Excellent,” Draco responds.

Hermione smiles.

As they leave, Narcissa stops her son several paces behind. They murmur for a bit before she swoops in to give him another hug. On their way to the apparition point, Hermione hooks her arm in Draco’s. “What did she say?”

“She asked me if I’m happy, holed up in a small flat with no elves to care for me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her that I have you, so I’m the happiest man in the world.”

* * *

When they get back to the flat, Hermione spins around and lunges at Draco. “You were brilliant!” She kisses him thoroughly. “I’m so proud of you.” 

A cheeky grin pulls at his mouth. “And you’re surprised it worked? It was your plan, after all.”

She waves him off and pulls him closer by the lapels. “If I’m being honest, it was really sexy. I think I have a competence kink.”

“Well then, you’re with the right wizard,” he says as he leans in for another kiss.

“Indeed.” She giggles as she kicks off her shoes and drops to her knees, reaching for his belt buckle.

“Granger?”

“I think you deserve a reward.” She releases him from his pants and smirks when she finds him already half hard. She gives him several languid strokes until his cock is standing at full attention.

“Fuck,” he swears as she swirls her tongue over his head, teasing him. He never requests this, but she knows how much he likes it. It drives him wild every time, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her feel powerful.

Hermione opens her mouth wider and sucks him in deeper, her head bobbing down as she nearly takes him to the hilt. It’s tough as he’s so large, but she tries anyway, hollowing out her cheeks and ripping strangled noises from his throat. His fingers tangle in her hair and she reaches down to tug on her dress until the tops of her breasts are visible.

“Yes, let me see your tits, love.” He moans as she pulls slowly off of him only to plunge back down, her head finding a good rhythm and her hand covering what doesn’t fit in her mouth. She sucks again,  _ hard _ , and he stills her with a thumb on her cheek. “Such a good girl.”

A shiver runs through her as she releases him with a pop. “Where do you want to finish?”

“Inside you,” he breathes, lifting her up to kiss her again as he backs her over to the sofa. “Lift your dress and turn around.”

Hermione complies, feeling her clit pulse and her nipples harden. She’s had more mind-blowing orgasms than she can count in the past couple months. Draco pulls her knickers to the side and plunges two fingers into her slick core. “Fuck, you’re dripping.”

“Only for you, Draco.”

He leans forward and nips her earlobe, sending shockwaves down her spine. “That’s my girl,” he whispers. He doesn’t even take her knickers off, choosing to keep them pulled aside, the lace digging into her skin. She braces herself on the edge of the sofa as he drives into her in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck,” she breathes, loving the way he stretches her each time. 

“That’s it, love.” He grips her hips tightly as he pounds her from behind, each drag of his thick cock against her inner walls sending waves of pleasure through her body. She’ll never get tired of this—this maelstrom of bliss that he brings, the way they melt together into one.

Hermione tries to remember to breathe. Sometimes it’s difficult when he works her into a frenzy like this, fucking her hard and deep. Her fingers dig into the soft material of the couch as the coil inside winds tighter, on the precipice of exploding. 

She opens her legs a little wider as his hand inches around her front, pulling the gusset of her knickers until it’s situated right against her clit. Then he tightens his grip of the material until the pressure is intense every time he thrusts. It’s a different sensation, the lace rubbing up against her most sensitive parts, and it has her moaning as he rocks into her again and again.

“So close,” she manages to huff, sweat beading at her temples.

“Come for me, Hermione,” he murmurs, pulling on the fabric again until the lace on her clit in tandem with his cock in her cunt is too much to bear. She crashes over the edge, screaming his name as she comes.

She can feel his smirk on her neck as his hips stutter erratically against hers and he follows, painting her insides with his spend. He pulls out almost too soon, and she can feel him dripping down her thighs. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers running through the sticky mess and rubbing it into her thighs and arse. “My good girl.” 

Then he whispers a quick incantation, cleaning them both up so neither her knickers nor dress are ruined. She swears each time with Draco is a new experience, but he never fails to take care of her. He helps her up from the sofa on shaky legs and then picks her up, carrying her to their bedroom.

* * *

Hermione is designing flyers for the grand opening of GM Elixirs. She has various inks and parchments spread across the table, Crookshanks mischievously eyeing her work from the kitchen counter, when Draco comes bursting through the Floo.

“You’ll never guess what happened.”

“What?” she looks up from her work, pleased with her calligraphy—though she should probably let Draco do a few, as his handwriting is annoyingly gorgeous.

“I just came from Gringotts to make sure the deposit for our small business loan came through and they sent my whole inheritance!” He looks still in shock, a weird sort of half-grin on his face.

Her eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, but—the  _ whole _ inheritance? The entire sum you were only supposed to get once you had betrothed a suitable pure-blood witch?”

“The very same, yes.”

“Draco!” she squeals, jumping up from the table to fling her ink-stained arms around him. “That’s wonderful news.”

“Granger, your hair,” he mumbles.

“Oh, sorry.” She pulls back and quickly uses the elastic on her wrist to wrap her curls up and out of the way. 

“There was a condition, though. A note attached from my mother.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, and what’s that?”

“That we get engaged before the grand opening.”

Hermione dissolves into a fit of laughter, sitting back down at the table. She splays her left hand out on a piece of parchment, making sure she hasn’t gotten any ink on her modest little diamond and gold ring that Draco had given her only days before. “Well, we’ll just let them think it was their doing then, eh?”

He sits down beside her and gives her a peck on the cheek. “Are you sure your Gryffindor pride can handle that?”

“I think under the circumstances, I’ll be fine.”

* * *

The grand opening goes off without a hitch, the old warehouse now fixed up to a pristine glow. A sign that shimmers emerald and garnet reads  _ GM Elixirs _ in a flourishing script. It turns out that the basement was perfectly suitable to a potions lab, while the main floor acts as their showroom. Theo takes great pride in demonstrating to the customers just what each potion does. He’s their only employee at the moment, but they plan to hire more staff as they expand.

Blaise has already claimed the empty lot across the street for his newest venture—a restaurant and bar that will utilize some of their specialty ingredients. Pansy has threatened him with an open mic night hosted by her and Ron, who are unsurprisingly engaged as well.

Hermione’s parents opt not to come to the opening as it would be too much stimuli for their brains, which are just getting used to the idea of magic again. She and Draco have been having dinner with them once a week as more and more of their memories return. 

Lucius and Narcissa make an appearance, of course, and Rita Skeeter rushes over to interview them, giving Draco and Hermione a brief reprieve before they’ll have to play nice. Another stipulation of receiving his full inheritance is that they dine at the Manor every other week. It is slowly getting more bearable, but Hermione thinks they have a long way to go before it’s fully amicable.

Ginny is unfortunately away with the Harpies, but Harry has turned up in support. Now that she’s not restricted to the Manor every weekend, Hermione has been bringing Draco along for happy hour with her friends. He’s mollified by Pansy’s presence, but she has a sneaking suspicion that he and Harry have started to get on rather well. 

She’s surveying the bustling crowd, her heart full, when Harry comes over. “So business  _ and _ a relationship—you sure you want to go all in with Malfoy?”

Hermione looks over at Draco, who is deep in conversation with Rita and his parents, probably spinning her story for the  _ Prophet. _ She sighs happily. “Absolutely.”

Harry pushes up his glasses and tracks her line of sight. “Gross.” He claps her on the back. “I’m proud of you, anyway. Hey, Nott, show me what this one does again?”

She grins as Harry walks over to Theo, who’s brandishing a pink colored potion for some patrons.

Much later, once the crowds have dispersed and they’ve finally closed up, Draco comes over to her and wraps her in his arms. “Tired, love?”

“Absolutely, but I have one more thing to show you.”

He gives her a questioning look, but follows her down silently into the lab, where Hermione has a golden tube of lotion waiting. She pops it open and rolls up his sleeve, rubbing it into his scarred arm.

Draco wiggles a bit. “Oh, it tingles.”

“I reversed engineered the scar cream you gave me and added some of my own ingredients. I don’t know if this will ever go away, but this should help lessen its appearance.” Her scar is merely a memory at this point, and she thinks his should be as well.

He blinks several times, looking down at his arm and back at her. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

“Maybe so, but let’s hear it again.”

He draws her close and kisses her temple. “I love you, you beautiful, insufferable, stupidly-talented swot.”

She laughs. “And I love you, you handsome, pointy, annoyingly-genius ferret.”

He chuckles. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished. Italian?”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

They lock everything up and walk entwined to the apparition point. It might not look like much now, but Hermione dreams of a future where this area will be a buzzing wizarding neighborhood. She looks at the man beside her and thinks,  _ Stranger things have happened. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming on this ride with me! I hope you enjoyed it. And my undying love to raven_maiden for taking the time to beta (and make sure I'm writing certain parts of Draco to their fullest potential).
> 
> The second part of my Dramione [canon divergent two-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563809) should be posting within the next week or so, and I've got several ideas for longer stories that I'm kicking around for the future so make sure you either subscribe or follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AlannahWrites)/[tumblr](https://monsterleadmehome.tumblr.com/) for future notifications!

**Author's Note:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4YYQtV2NLaiX3WiOnkSCXi?si=vU3p0AntSR6Qu8CN7AVYJQ) for this fic.
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/monsterleadme) or [tumblr](https://monsterleadmehome.tumblr.com/).


End file.
